


The Divinity of Heroism

by LeEspionage



Category: Lucifer (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angel Wings, BAMF Lucifer, Crack Treated Seriously, Depression, Dimension Travel, Drug Addiction, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Gen, Hurt Lucifer, Lucifer & Tony, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Redemption, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Hatred, Social Media, Swearing, The Author Regrets Nothing, Villains to Heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeEspionage/pseuds/LeEspionage
Summary: “Amenadiel!” he called out. “Brother! I could really need a lift back home!” he specified, frustration in his voice. “Any time now!” he hissed loudly but received nothing once more.Damn it.“This is really familiar,” Darcy muttered lowly.“Yeah…” Jane agreed, looking at a loss for what to do.“FATHER – you cannot leave me here!” Lucifer growled angrily. “I have stuff to do – you know this!”“Reallyfamiliar,” Darcy sighed. Jane nodded and shushed her.---Or, Lucifer utterly fails at returning to Hell at the end of season 4 and ends up in the Marvel Universe before the Avengers instead, and must now find a way home. Completely unoriginal concept, but I've had fun with it.Ignores timelines like nobody's business.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 1136
Kudos: 1797
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> So I did a thing.
> 
> It seems I have a weakness for dark-haired supernatural British men with red eyes and major issues. Honestly hadn't thought about it before I was several chapters into this, but I really can't say I'm all too bothered. I'm having fun and I guess that's what matters.
> 
> Timelines are fucked, as said. The Lucifer series is happening in our current day, while the Avengers happened in like 2012 - but again, I don't really care. I'm meshing this.
> 
> Another note for this story and a warning - I've taken certain liberties with Lucifer's powers, because I needed some more 'hero-like' abilities, so I've kinda mixed him up a little with his comic version and added just a few details that aren't original to the series. Nothing outrageous, I swear.  
> \--  
> I hope you enjoy, and now on to the story!

It was interesting to see – _to experience_ – the difference between being handed a destiny and choosing one. Selecting your own punishment, even if it wasn’t any better than the last one, was both liberating and enraging in two distinct ways that weren’t completely incompatible with each other.

The anger simmered like a boiling, sulfuric lake at the pit of his stomach, and he clutched at his midriff to attempt to soothe the burning ache that his decisions – his _own_ decisions – have caused him… and it was freeing to know, that for the first time he had truly, honestly, intended and succeeded in being – selfless.

It was a painful opportunity he’d been presented with if Lucifer had to be honest with himself.

And though he generally _had to_ be honest, he’d recently come to realize that he tended to be quite the opposite, independent of his wishes on the matter.

Losing everything – _again_ – hurt. Excruciatingly.

It was a dull agony and a sinister, familiar loneliness creeping in like a cold spider on the back of his neck. It was rage – at his Father, at his demons, at his very being and at everything even remotely nasty enough to mention. It was disappointment – with himself first, and with his family second, though he was far from unfamiliar with it all. He’d ridden the carousel before and thrown up during the ride more than once to testify that the experience overall was a heinous undertaking.

It was pain, fear and sadness – and what he’s now come to identify as _self-hatred._

The loss was already tearing a gaping hole into his heart and he could feel it bleed as well as he could feel the wind in his wings.

Quite frankly, being uprooted even half as thoroughly as he’d been the first time around should’ve been the extent of the hurt that could be extended to him by now, but _somehow_ –

Somehow, this was _worse._

It was selfless, it was enraging, but worse in all the ways that succeeded to claw at his bloody, raw heart.

His wings beat half-heartedly to maintain his altitude, but the tears that rolled unchecked down his cheeks had no issue obeying the law of gravity despite everything. Every moment brought him further from Chloe and closer to the destiny he’d fought against tirelessly for millennia – a destiny he spat, pissed, cursed and laughed at since he was cast out the first time around.

A destiny he now… _agreed with completely._

He _had_ to. He saw no other alternative. No other method of stopping what was a disaster in the making – the reality that was happening _right at this moment_ , in fact. What happened with Charlie, Linda, Ella and Chloe… it was in his hands.

And he knew, no matter how much it ultimately pained him to admit, that if he ever wanted to entertain any hope of a _resemblance_ of redemption – he had to accept his faults, his _actions_ and what needed to be done to protect the humans, the people, he loved and to ensure that their lives could be lived to the fullest.

Without him.

And it hurt. It hurt so much. Hurt more than the fall, the rejection of his Father – it hurt even more than his self-hatred.

Leaving Chloe to save her home, _Earth,_ was without a doubt the absolute pinnacle of all the good deeds he’d ever made in his entire existence – possibly the first, best and _last_ good deed he’d ever commit.

His love for her was absolute and irrefutable – and so he prepared himself for the travel. For the severance. He finally embraced his purpose and acknowledged that this was the end. The end of his fun. The end of staring happiness in the eyes.

Her love would sustain him for eternity – of this he was certain.

Lucifer cast one last lingering look at the top of his tower…

and vanished from the Earth.

-6-6-6-

Lucifer did not, however, appear in Hell as he’d intended.

Instead, he hit the ground _hard_ – unexpectedly, and he probably would’ve sprained a wing if his crash hadn’t been briefly interrupted by his prickly arrival – collision – into a sharp cluster of cacti.

“Bloody _FUCK_ – “ he started with fiery vitriol but was interrupted when his back finally made conclusive contact with the ground and his head similarly became aquatinted with a large, loose piece of rock. Utterly shocked by the turn of events, he let out a startled cough and a groan to punctuate his discomfort.

He heaved with residual panic, eyes wide and staring at nothing as he stopped moving entirely. 

Dust was swirling around him like a mist, limiting his visibility and causing every hazardous inhalation to taste like the underside of a sandal. Moving his eyes around to survey his surroundings provided only darkness and grains of sand and an acute feeling of _bafflement._

The air was cool and dry. His wings were covered with the remnants of annihilated wasteland foliage and Lucifer recognized the taste of drought on this tongue.

He smacked his lips in silent disbelief as he simply lied there for a couple of minutes, still completely unwilling to move a muscle.

He was in a desert.

Why, by everything holy and unholy, was he in a Father-be-damned desert?!

_Again._

“You _cannot_ be serious, Father,” he spoke to the dark sky with a hint of angry defeat in his voice – which he quickly dismissed.

He wouldn’t let God’s attempt to distract him succeed. His little tests and games and _infuriating_ meddling wouldn’t keep him from doing what he intended.

Directing a mental middle-finger to every stuck-up prat in the general direction of the moon, he sat up and carefully moved into an upright position once more. He brushed off his now completely unwearable outfit and prepared himself for another transition between realms without further ado.

He took flight –

“Umph – !” – and failed utterly once more as he was slammed straight back into the hard, cracked ground he’d previously attempted to leave, his chest having impacted rather awkwardly with the earth and driving the air out of his lungs.

Steadily getting up on his hands and knees, he stared blankly at the ground as he worked the sand out of his mouth and spat it out.

“Could you _not?!_ ” he screamed _, pleaded,_ loudly.

Looking up, his stars seemed to twinkle at him mockingly, causing his scowl to deepen further.

This wasn’t right, and however much he dreaded the thought, he highly doubted making a third attempt would change that. With a deep sigh filled to the brim with every ounce of his frustration, he concluded that he’d need to consult Amenadiel about his leaving after all. That had not been the, admittedly very hasty, plan and it grated on his nerves that his one good deed was already off to such a dissatisfactory start.

Lucifer also expected it would be rather awkward, but needs must, and Hell couldn’t very well be governed by a desert-stranded Devil with the half of Sahara hidden away in his trousers. Amenadiel would understand and support his decision and take him to Hell – he had to. Regardless of whatever fuckery God was up to.

This time, Lucifer took flight and after orienting himself briefly, he flew from what he now vaguely recognized as a New Mexico desert and headed straight for Los Angeles.

-6-6-6-

 _This_ _is not right._

Having obscured himself from the views of the humans below, he flapped somewhat helplessly above the reckless traffic of LA with the acute feeling that the universe he’d help to create suddenly hated him quite a bit more than he’d previously assumed.

_My building – the club – is not here?_

An eerie feeling of discomfort quickly overtook him, and he hastily vacated the area, intent on Linda’s home to search for Amenadiel there.

He arrived only to discover another house entirely, and he couldn’t stop the small sound of panic that escaped him.

“No…,” he said and took off again – this time for the precinct.

Relocated.

Chloe’s house: an older couple and their autistic son.

Daniel’s apartment: dirty, disheveled Latvian American crackheads.

Trixie’s school: present, but unhelpful and in the wrong color.

Lucifer couldn’t contain himself anymore and flew wherever he could to gain any kind of coherency.

_The name of that road is wrong._

_That celebrity is the wrong gender._

_This building has changed both direction and location._

_…Who the fuck is Virginia Potts and why should I care?_

Vacating the electronics store he’d been desperate enough to check to reestablish that Sony was still a brand and not a known species of cuttlefish, he disappeared with a profound weariness warring with his sense of sanity.

“AMENADIEL!” he yelled at the sky, having flown to stand atop a building to take a moment to scream to the Heavens once more to whatever avail. “Amenadiel, nothing is looking quite as it should be, and explanations are very much in demand at the moment – answer me Amenadiel!” he shouted hoarsely upwards with clenched hands pressed together and gritted teeth.

Getting no answer, he cursed and instead resumed his search.

_Where were they?_

Hours went by and eventually, he gave up on finding the people he knew. Some people existed, others didn’t or weren’t even remotely the same, or even worse – had died years ago. 

Chloe’s mother died 10 years ago, childless, due to a car accident. Her father was a police officer with a completely different family.

Daniel, he surmised, had possibly been exchanged for a pair of twins by the names of Casper and Gabrielle, and Linda didn’t seem to exist at all – neither did Ella.

This _couldn’t_ be his home. Nothing made sense. Everything was completely out of proportion.

Major world events either had started too early or had ended too late. There was an eerie consistency to important events having occurred exactly as they should’ve, yet everything felt tilted and out of place – like someone had set up the conditions for a perfect copy but hadn’t managed to hit the mark quite right.

Religions existed – verbatim, irritatingly enough.

Beyoncé existed. As she should.

JF Kennedy had been assassinated, social media was still exploding, and WW2 had clearly been just a big of a mess, but curiously enough – everything he knew he’d had a hand in also still existed.

The Devil was beyond frustrated at this point and spent the rest of the night comparing landmarks, history, people – his former hideouts on earth, the proofs of his presence on Earth he remembered existed like paintings, photographs, books – Mozart!

He paused disbelievingly, staring at the phone in his hands that he’d stolen from a drunk young man in a shopping cart in New England.

Mozart still became a famous musician and he still managed to compose his Symphony No. 40, even without his help? His teachings? This was impossible. It made absolutely no sense at all.

Furious, Lucifer sought out the connection to Heaven – his last resort.

… Only to feel no connection at all. No sense of light. No sense of judgment or bars before gilded archways. It simply wasn’t there.

Fear was steadily setting in now and Lucifer called out once more.

“AMENADIEL! Brother!” he yelled – but received nothing. Not even a hint of acknowledgment. Not a single whisper to signify that his brother was even _alive._

“Azrael!” he called now, desperate. “Remiel, Zadkiel, Rafael – Gabriel! DOES ANYONE HEAR A BLOODY THING I’M SAYING?!” he questioned the wide expanse of nature before him as he stood atop Eagle Peak in Yellowstone National Park.

His stars – the tiny dots that seemed to shine with a slightly different flavor – offered no solace and neither did the landscape he recognized yet refused to believe was real.

Lucifer panicked and attempted to return to Hell again. Anything was better than this. He had to get away from this nightmare – this, this _hell loop?_

No. No this wasn’t a hell loop. His regrets weren’t holding him here.

Something else was.

Colliding harshly with the dusty ground of New Mexico afresh drove that fact home very effectively and very infuriatingly.

“NO!” Lucifer denied the entire situation – and attempted to go to Hell again – and appeared panting and exhausted two meters to the left and in a different uncomfortable position.

“Please…” he begged, “Father – why?”

But there was no divinity to be felt. It was completely absent. It was like God had never existed here at all and had no influence on the situation.

And yet in a twisted way – they’d both existed here. This world knew the Devil – had composed his history and damned his faults all the same. But this wasn’t his world – his _universe._

Shifting twice more yielded nothing but fatigue, disappointment and a muted feeling of devastation, and so Lucifer finally succumbed to the darkness that was creeping in as the sun rose over the horizon. 


	2. Reorientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the enthusiasm I've received for the first chapter, so here's the second one! I'll try and have the next couple of chapters out soon. Happy/safe quarantining, everyone. ;)

“Jane, he _moved!_ Holy shit, he’s actually waking up – excuse me, Mr. Alien, sir – how is space doing and is His Highness on his way here? _Hello?”_

“Quickly Darcy, get some water!”

“Right – on it.”

Women were chattering.

Women didn’t chatter in Hell – they screamed and cried and begged for mercy.

His head was killing him.

“Why does he look so pissed though?”

“Never mind that – he’s probably just disoriented. Give him some space.”

“I think he’s had enough of space, and honestly, so have I.”

“Darcy,” the clearly more mature of the two reprimanded expertly, causing the other to blow what sounded like a raspberry before moving farther away from him.

Lucifer opened his eyes slowly and blinked against the light of the lamps above him. The space he found himself smelled oddly like stale coffee and oil and a background hum of electrical equipment made the atmosphere feel charged and disturbingly clinical.

_Some kind of facility?_

He frowned. He was on a couch – a _very_ uncomfortable, lumpy couch.

Added to that, he wasn’t wearing any clothes besides his underwear, he realized. While this wasn’t exactly abnormal or an issue in the slightest, he seemed to recall having lost consciousness while dressed. Blinking, he shifted his attention to the attractive woman sitting on a stool a couple of meters away and raised an eyebrow, causing her to stiffen in preparation.

“Hello,” he greeted casually with a slight rasp.

“Ah – hello,” the woman responded cautiously, wringing her hands into the fabric of her shirt.

Niceties observed, Lucifer provided a small nod in acknowledgment and took a squinted glance around the room.

There were boxes everywhere. A ludicrous number of boxes, actually. Dirty plates and coffee cups were stacked hazardously on a counter off to the left, screens of different sizes had been placed on every other available surface and a messy pile of cables wrapped in tape was doing a poor job concealing itself under a desk. Adding insult to injury, an unholy amount of dust and cobwebs littered the ceiling, rather resembling an abandoned building more than any kind of facility he’d ever visited before.

It was about as disappointing as he’d expected and matched the quality of the couch perfectly.

He pointedly cleared his throat and prepared himself to talk, grimacing briefly at the taste. “If you don’t mind my asking – and do excuse my appearance and general discombobulation, I’ve had a particularly trying time since I landed here, but – where the bloody hell am I exactly?” Sand was still stuck to the roof of his mouth and he smacked his lips with disgruntlement at the discovery when he finished speaking.

The woman smiled uncomfortably, but also looked like she wasn’t surprised by the question in the slightest.

“Earth,” she responded. “Uh – Midgard, I mean?” she quickly corrected herself, which wasn’t much of a correction and more of an outdated, unnecessarily offered synonym.

“Right. I’m misplaced, not 8th century Scandinavian,” he admonished the woman, who blushed and opened her mouth to no-doubt apologize for her silliness, but Lucifer interrupted her.

“No matter, my dear. Judging by the view from your horribly dirty windows and the pile of sand in the corner you’ve attempted to hide behind the bin, I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume I’m still in New Mexico,” he concluded with a dramatic sigh, and after a moment the woman simply nodded.

“Eh, yes – you’re still in New Mexico. Darcy and I found you at the Bifrost site,” she explained, and Lucifer thought the woman was strangely obsessed with old Norse. “Your clothes were kind of trashed, so we, um, fixed you up a little and dragged you inside.” A tense moment passed. “– Do Asgardians wear suits, too?” she blurted randomly, and Lucifer furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Pardon? How in the world would I know?”

This woman was possibly even more confused than himself.

“Yo, Mr. Alien – where are you from?” the other, younger woman present in this hovel spoke up as she came closer, offering him a large glass of water. Sitting up, he accepted the beverage and gulped the thing down gratefully.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that, girl – and I’m from Hell,” he admitted easily, as that was where he wanted to go – and stay. “It was my intention to travel there directly, but alas, my Father hates me,” he lamented, and the dark-haired woman cocked her head quizzically.

“Hell? You mean _Helheim_? Neato – another alien from another planet entirely. Hey Janey, you think we should start making a collection out of this? That’s three realms out of – nine? Damn, still got a long way to go,” the clearly barmy young woman – Darcy? – muttered to her friend.

Unwilling to argue with her, Lucifer simply sighed in frustration. He didn’t have time to ruin these women’s perception of reality.

The Devil looked down, attempting to think. The desperation was creeping back in like a mounting crescendo, but before he had time to delve further into it – Jane – spoke up again.

“What’s your name?”

Dragging a hand through his hair, he stretched his neck muscles and answered honestly, albeit tiredly. “Lucifer Morningstar – a pleasure, I’m sure.”

Darcy snorted, which wasn’t exactly an uncommon reaction, but nonetheless an unwanted one. Lucifer felt too depressed and out-of-sorts to entertain any thoughts of seducing them, however. He was already itching to _leave._

“Goes with the Helheim theme, I assume,” Jane commented thoughtfully to herself, staring at him like he was some kind of _common_ archeological discovery – which wasn’t only _rude_ , but also bewildering.

Clearly, none of them actually believed he was who he said he was, and honestly, Lucifer felt disinclined to press the issue.

“So, you’re really not from Asgard,” she concluded sadly, which was one of the strangest things anyone has ever informed him of. Lucifer nodded tentatively in agreement and then offered a bemused smile.

“Not that I’m not thankful, but you are awfully accepting of my – arrival,” he settled on. “Keeping strange company, are we, ladies? I approve,” he told them, and the younger grimaced slightly and rummaged through her trouser pockets until she found and pulled out – a taser. Lucifer lifted his hands into the air half-jokingly.

“Ah – I’m sure that won’t be necessary, my dear. It won’t do you any good, but I’d hate to start this acquaintanceship off on such a shocking note,” he quipped with a grin and it was clear Darcy fought to contain her composure. _Charming little thing._

“We’ve met Asgardians before, but never anyone from – Hel,” Jane said, mispronouncing his kingdom while trying to diffuse the situation. “What’s that like?” she asked semi-casually.

“Miserable, as I’m sure you can guess. Lots of screams, crying and a lack of anything to do but torture the poor souls pathetic enough to get stuck there.”

“You’re crazy – he’s crazy, Jane. They’re all crazy,” Darcy told Jane, her taser aimed determinately. “This thing shoots lightning, you know,” she informed him imperiously.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and stood up. “Yes – I do know. And I’m quite sane, thank you. I really must be going, though. Perhaps whatever prevented my brother from answering my calls has passed by now. Excuse me,” he said, walking towards the exit and ignoring the woman with the taser.

The women didn’t seem to know what to do with a man walking in his underwear out of their building and simply followed him hesitantly, shooting each other confused glances as he stepped outside, looking up towards the cloudless sky and glowing-hot sun.

“Amenadiel!” he called out. “Brother! I could really need a lift back home!” he specified, frustration in his voice. “Any time now!” he hissed loudly but received nothing once more. _Damn it._

“This is really familiar,” Darcy muttered lowly.

“Yeah…” Jane agreed, looking at a loss for what to do.

“FATHER – you cannot leave me here!” Lucifer growled angrily. “I have stuff to do – you know this!”

“ _Really_ familiar,” Darcy sighed. Jane nodded and shushed her.

Sucking his teeth in disapproval, Lucifer crossed his arms and glared balefully at the sky for several minutes. Eventually one of the women approached him.

“So… Lucifer. Would you like to – break your fast at our table?” the brunette asked him gently, bizarrely.

“Miss – Jane, was it?”

She nodded helpfully.

“We both have a reasonable grasp on the modern English language, so let’s attempt to keep it there and not in the 12th century or further up North than strictly necessary, hm?” he proposed diplomatically with a hint of derision that had Jane press her lips tightly together.

“Right – sure. Let’s – just go get some breakfast, then,” she decided, powerwalking back into the building.

“By all means, my dear, after you,” Lucifer said, fighting to keep the scowl off his face.

-6-6-6-

“And this is the _toaster._ We use this baby to burn our toast to a crisp,” Darcy told the strange, tall alien with the funky, infernal name in their kitchen succinctly. “Jane eats her toast like they were grilled at the mouth of an active volcano, so never accept her help operating that shit,“ she disclosed, much to Jane’s disgruntlement, before grabbing a plate of two-day-old waffles and continuing her tutorial. “That’s the oven. We don’t use that one – none of us can cook. Over there is the kettle, which heats our water to an okay-ish degree, and _this_ badboy is a – “

“Microwave. Marvelous invention, yes, and not nearly as detrimental to your health as the propaganda would’ve liked you to believe. Now, do you intent to proclaim the name of all your kitchen appliances, or can I please have access to the tragedy you call a fridge?”

Jane and Darcy took a moment to compute that, but eventually just complied with the still-shirtless – why were they always shirtless? – alien in their kitchen. Jane hadn’t been sure it was a good idea, thinking back to Thor’s complete Earth-technology illiteracy, but Lucifer of Hel seemed to be perfectly aware of how to utilize every single appliance in the kitchen – even the ones she herself had no clue about and had no idea she even owned. 

She could only conclude that Lucifer had either been here before and had gotten prior instruction, or he was simply much more intuitive than Thor’s – species?

Regardless, this alien was preparing breakfast.

She eventually had Darcy continue to observe their guest while she went to grab some clothes for him to wear. She didn’t have a lot, but anything at this point was better than extraterrestrially almost-cheating on her sorta-boyfriend with another alien from an entirely different realm by watching him cook her breakfast half-naked.

Her life was getting exceptionally complicated, and though she was beyond intrigued by literally everything and had like, a _million_ questions for this guy, she was also getting very tired of having to rearrange her schedule to accommodate sudden fluxes in the Einstein-Rosen bridge due to unexpected alien rain. 

If Thor could just come back to her and answer her questions, that would be just perfect.

“I have some pants and a shirt you can use… I hope they fit,” Jane spoke up as she reentered the kitchen area.

Humming slightly, the alien whose name belonged to a different mythology than Thor’s lifted his attention from the pan and scanned the clothes on her arm – and frowned slightly, like he could smell exactly how long these pants had been nesting in that box, and how long this t-shirt had gone unwashed for.

“…I suppose I must be thankful it isn’t denim,” Lucifer informed them dryly after a moment of sad scrutinizing, in which Darcy had been hard-pressed to contain her laughter.

“Judging by the suit you were almost wearing before we found you, I’m guessing you’re a bit of a clothes-snob, aren’t you?” Darcy guessed with an impish grin on her face, and Lucifer sighed good-naturally.

“Well, _Darcy,_ the clothes make the man, as they say, and I doubt anyone would take me seriously if I started traipsing around in socks-and-sandals,” he informed them with a borderline-serious expression on his handsome face. “Not that I care particularly much about the opinion of humans, but I do care about my own very much, and I have standards to uphold,” he said while clearly not giving two shits about his state of undress.

“Snob.”

“Darcy!” Jane hissed.

_“Jane,”_ Lucifer broke in, grinning. “I do believe these omelets are complete. Wholly devoid of any interesting ingredients due to the nothingness that is the state of your fridge, but undoubtedly the best thing on offer and divinely prepared by yours truly,” he presented with a flourish, setting the table and promptly sitting down to eat. “Please, enjoy.”

“Uh, thanks?” Jane attempted, which earned her a nod and she sheepishly sat down opposite the unfortunately-named man that she’d found outside. Staring for a moment, she decidedly handed Lucifer the shirt and he wordlessly complied to dress with a mildly amused snort. Breakfast commenced with less nakedness after that fact.

“Dude, this is possibly the best thing that has ever exited this kitchen. You’re a miracle maker,” Darcy announced after a while, and the man raised an eyebrow.

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” he denied bizarrely. Jane could’ve mistaken it for humbleness if she hadn’t pegged his personality already as excessively self-centered, which honestly just confused her further. She kept silent and continued to casually study him as they ate.

He looked very frustrated through his obvious attempts to hide it. His shoulders were tense, his responses more often than not either clipped, rude and courteous to a fault, and his tall forehead crinkled in mild distress whenever he trailed off in thoughtful silence. It was like he tried, and sometimes failed, to be polite through a haze of stress and genuine interest. Jane had to admit he did admirably, considering her prior experiences.

When they finished, Darcy moved to take the dishes back to the kitchen area where the porcelain would sit patiently for the next 14 hours, after which Jane handed Lucifer the pants and encouraged him to change in the bathroom.

“There’s… a new pair of boxers there too,” she explained hurriedly at his look. Lucifer wrinkled his nose, but simply left for the ‘mediocre lavatory’ and brought a newspaper with him.

_How oddly…_ human _of him_ , Jane mused as Darcy came to stand beside her.

“This isn’t his first rodeo,” she commented with a tilt to her head. “Think we should tell SHIELD we have another visitor, Janey?”

She thought about it for a second.

“…I guess – But we’re not going into detail,” she stressed, brows pinched. “We’ll just do exactly as they told us to: _‘Inform them of any disturbances at the Bifrost Site, send them the data and notify them if_ Thor Odinson _makes contact again,’”_ Jane quoted with an authoritative voice. “If we make them nervous, they’ll just come back and confiscate all my equipment to ‘double-check’ and I’m not going through that again.” Jane was pissed just from thinking about it.

“I don’t see Thor anywhere around here – just some tall dude with a fucked-up name, a weirdly British accent and awesome omelet-making skills.”

“Exactly. Speaking of – what’s taking him so long?” It’d been several minutes by now and Jane felt weirdly antsy all of a sudden.

Shrugging, Darcy went to gently knock on the door to the bathroom.

“Eh, Mr. Alien? You flush by pulling the chain to the right – your right, not mine,” she specified, brows furrowing at the lack of reply. “Hello?” she tried again, and Jane’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Pulling out the extra key from the drawer in her desk, she unceremoniously unlocked the door and opened it, revealing – absolutely no one. Nothing.

“He’s bolted,” Darcy stated unnecessarily, eyes slightly wide with her hands placed firmly on her hips as she eyed the rather small window above the toilet. “Space magic,” she concluded, and Jane sighed.

“We’ll take the car to town and see if he’s there, if not – then I’m not completely sure I care. He clearly knew nothing about neither Thor nor the Asgardians, so…”

“More Einstein-Rosen bridge surveillance, boss lady?”

“You got it, Darcy.”

Darcy offered a clap to accentuate her enthusiasm – or lack thereof and went to prep the car. As planned, they went to brief through the nearby town of Puente Antiguo but would ultimately find nothing – again.

Lucifer had disappeared.

-6-6-6-

In an endless universe – one in which you had the privilege and ability to move more or less freely, he might add – it wouldn’t be farfetched to assume one tended to meet a broad variety of interesting and uncanny things along the way.

But somehow, on his extensive list of weird encounters generated over the ages, his meeting with those two women must’ve surely ranked in the top ten.

Which, considering the circumstances, was marvelously impressive.

It was purely because of the randomness of it all – of which there was _a lot_ – as well as the distinct lack of screaming. And while the old Norse had been a nice touch for originality, he hadn’t cared much for it either and had deigned to leave as soon as possible due to the rising sense of confusion every single minute in their presence had brought him.

He’d flown the coop, so to speak. At the very first opportunity, and he refused to apologize for it.

They’d clearly known he wasn’t a native – there was no doubting that – but neither had they been overly concerned about it. They hadn’t reacted to his name, though they recognized the obvious background behind it, and had demanded neither his repentance nor answers to their existential inquires. Lucifer hadn’t quite known what to do with it and had, therefore, defaulted automatically to his night-after activities to regain any kind of ground. Some _normalcy._

Mortals, _humans,_ didn’t usually react like that when they were aware of the presence of a divine being in their living room, so Lucifer not only felt puzzled beyond belief but also unreasonably frustrated by it.

He was alone – phoneless, moneyless, in ratty clothes, confused by the randomness and restless for anything familiar.

All he seemed to have was _questions._

He felt like shit, and to be honest, questions were the last thing he needed right now. He wanted _answers,_ but he doubted he’d find any as long as he was unable to make contact with the entirety of his _life._

Which had changed all of a sudden and had _somehow_ managed to go from absolutely horrible to fantastically _horrendous._

_I can’t possibly deserve this._

Glancing over the stolen newspaper again, he managed only to frustrate himself further. Everything was simultaneously, annoyingly, the same, but also completely different in all the worst ways.

The news sections were discussing familiar political situations that he remembered were ongoing issues on Earth, but nothing was exactly like he knew they should’ve been. The President of the United States was different – but the vice was not. A terrorist cell that he knew was still causing issues in Afghanistan in his universe was not even mentioned once, and most ridiculous of all –

This world had _superheroes._

It was preposterous, and he closed the paper in protest, refusing to read the article.

Wherever he was, he suspected he’d be stuck till he established contact to either Heaven or Hell, or he found someone with the ability to transport him to where he needed to go. He highly doubted he’d find anything by sitting in the middle of a New Mexican desert, however, so he brushed off the dust from the worst pair of pants he’d worn since before the Lutheran Reformation and took to the skies once more.

His concentration was still slightly shaky, and his head had hardly been fixed by the lackluster breakfast he’d prepared, so – he needed to rest. He had to stomp firmly on his powerful urge to return to Hell – to handle the situation he knew must be brewing there in his absence – and contain himself. It wouldn’t do him any good. It wouldn’t work and would only serve to exhaust him anew.

He had one good flight left in him before he’d collapse again and therefore, he directed himself towards a place he thought might _distract_ him sufficiently from this situation while he recuperated.

And since he refused to return to Los Angeles to find no one there, he really only had one place he desired to disappear at. 

Las Vegas.


	3. Las Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support!
> 
> This chapter is short, and not an awful lot happens - but it provides build-up for the next couple of chapters, so here you go. The next chapter will be up in another couple of days. :)
> 
> (Extra note: I'm not American, so please do correct me if I'm writing complete nonsense. )

“I don’t think you have access to this building, sir…”

“Mm… probably.”

“There’s no staircase leading up to this part of the rooftop. The maintenance lift has been out of order since yesterday morning.”

“Mhm…”

“I’d help you if I could, but you’re chained to the water tower…”

No reaction.

“How the fuck did you get up here?”

“I fl – fleph… fl _ew_ up here with… my whangs. Wings. Yes – those. Bloody menaces,” he responded groggily, rolling around to his back, his arm resting at a weird angle because of the handcuffs. “They’re far too big. Too white – all over the place. Horrible on linen… doesn’t match my bloody hair – ” He coughed, interrupting his own complaints.

“Are you on drugs, sir?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucifer nodded slowly, sighing pleasantly. “Please, do let me enjoy it while it lasts. I had to – mix quite the hefty concoction last night to achieve this state. Brilliant… brilliant results, I must say,” he murmured at last, his eyes closed, and his head rolled to the side against the bulk of the water tower.

“Tourists…” the man mumbled to himself, sounding exasperated. 

Lucifer couldn’t give less of a fuck, even if he tried. The buzz was still ongoing, but he was disappointed to note that his head was slowly clearing of the fog that had been so overpowering minutes earlier.

One could always count on Las Vegas to provide only the best of the worst drugs on the market.

The place certainly hadn’t disappointed, no.

When he’d first arrived, he’d been woefully devoid of any money, legitimization or purpose of any kind, so he did what he usually did when reentering a new century with nothing to his name.

Made a name for himself.

_Sort of._

Which wasn’t exactly as simple as it sounded. In fact, he could tell you plenty of stories of how remaking his persona on Earth had failed quite spectacularly. Although, when one found themselves in one of the most debouched places in the world, an identity suddenly wasn’t quite as necessary as one might believe. This had partly been the reason for the destination. But – truth be told, he was simply too frustrated to perform the usual flair of finesse involved in the creation of an identity and had opted to go with the flow instead.

In Las Vegas, people tended to be either too high, drunk, rich or poor to care who you were, as long as you provided the entertainment and dealt the drugs.

Really, it was perfect.

A couple of weeks had gone by, he believed.

An adventurous and ludicrous couple of weeks, of which he was quite certain three of the days had been spent at the tender mercies of a wannabe cannibal.

It was a funny story, honestly.

Lucifer had been convinced by the man’s acquaintances that the Hannibal Lector reject had been in the possession of a unique drug he’d never heard of, which had sparked his curiosity to start. The name of the drug, however, had sounded vaguely like _‘why not’_ in Enochian, which meant he absolutely had to try it no matter how it happened. This had resulted in a weekend stay-over with a man intermittently attempting to stab him while he drunkenly searched for the elusive stash of ‘why not,’ which he ultimately, much to his disappointment, never found or even sniffed the existence of. The cannibal had no doubt been equally as disappointed, so after off-handedly assuring him that Lucifer would _most definitely_ see him later, he departed and was picked up by another gang immediately after, initiating his _second_ kidnapping since his arrival.

Lucifer had gotten quite used to it, as it stood, and managed to make friends with the mob boss in short order – ensuring more alcohol and more drugs. One needed a constant supply to keep this buzz going, and even though his standards were steadfastly high, he couldn’t afford to be too picky. If he went sober, he would remember where he was.

And who wasn’t there with him.

So, the hazardousness continued well into the second week, bringing with it a well of new experiences and acquaintances. To sum up the events, Lucifer counted that he’d been kidnapped a minimum of 3 times and woken up in as many brothels with his hands tied to the bedposts. He’d gotten on great terms with 2 different mob bosses, 8 popular hookers of various sexes and Elvis at the local chapel. The fella had been kind enough to buy him a cheap flip-phone after Lucifer had kindly assisted with a satanic wedding ceremony, during which Lucifer had laughed hysterically into the baptismal font without a single pause to breathe throughout the whole event.

He’d managed to _not_ be arrested yet on account of sudden orgies, which was honestly quite the magical achievement – and one single casino had attempted and failed in banning him from the premises. The owner, Henriette, however, seemed to have liked him well enough and even invited him to her penthouse instead of simply expelling him from her institution. Lucifer thinks he _might’ve_ spent 4 days as a sugar baby because when he came out of his LSD and cocaine haze that following Saturday, he had a completely new wardrobe and a basket of chocolate and sex toys with a farewell note in poor calligraphy sitting on a sofa table in a room he didn’t remember booking, nor paying for.

Nevertheless, aside from the numerous ‘homicides’ on his person, he really had been quite out of it most of the time and had only recently decided to dial down the drugs. Last night had been an extraordinary exception though since Elvis had scored them both some exotic as Hell samples and felt he needed to share the wealth. This had been marvelously kind of him, and he would’ve surely granted a blessing to the man for the results if only he could.

Then again, Lucifer could not for the life of him remember _why_ ended up chained to the water tower of the adjacent building, and judging from the shell casings digging into his back, he was forced to consider another murder attempt – which caused him to sigh anew.

The buzz had left him during his ruminations.

“Sir… I’ll be right back with some tongs to open the – “

_Clink-Clink._

The handcuffs fell to the ground as Lucifer sat up tiredly, rubbing at his forehead and groaning pitifully.

“Ok then,” the man, custodian of the building probably, stated nonplussed. “Never fucking mind then,” he said, pointing to the elevator. “Now, get off my goddamn roof, gringo, or I’ll call the cops on you. You’re trespassing, you drugged-up fucker.”

Lucifer nodded at the threat. “Yes, yes – reasonable, I suppose. I’ll be going then. Good day,” he informed the man, steadily making his way off the floor and towards the elevator. Without waiting for the key card to provide access to the function of the elevator, Lucifer pressed the button, entered and made his way out of the building, leaving the custodian gaping after him.

By Father, he felt drained. Of everything.

Especially _care._

He had no one to meet, nothing to look forward to and no motivation to take a single step in the direction of the hotel he currently occupied.

A sudden buzzing in his breast pocket signified a text message. Lucifer checked it dispassionately.

Some man he peripherally remembered getting drunk with a couple of days ago in a piano bar – Lucas? – was asking him if he’d provide entertainment at his brother’s party, provided he supplied food and alcohol.

Staring bleary-eyed at the screen for a couple of seconds, Lucifer scanned the text again and considered his options.

As said, there were none.

He supposed he’d better get showered then.

-6-6-6-

“ _~ So I told him about my pain_

_And the life I’ve been through_

_He just smiled and the laughter came_

_Then I told him that I love you, and then the Devil cried…_ ”

He ended the piece, and people clapped – because of course they would.

“Thank you, thank you – I’ll be here all night. Well, not here specifically – I believe it’s dear Georgina’s turn on the violin next, but I’ll be around if anyone feels they haven’t gotten enough of me,” he informed them all with a chuckle and was greeted with delighted laughter and a few amused smirks.

All very predictable, but at least he was occupied. That brunette over there might keep him extremely occupied on further thought, and he casually started to make his way towards the eager woman.

Playing the piano was one of the few moments Lucifer could close his eyes and pretend his situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed. He could concentrate on the movement of his fingers, the texture of the keys and the sound produced when his hands flew across the instrument. The melodies flowed naturally with the depth of his voice, and he relished the one thing that could never change, no matter where he was.

The wholesome pleasure of music.

Lucifer dallied around with the brunette for a little while and then went on to play twice more by popular demand. It was quite the party – noteworthily higher class than any other party he’d participated in since his arrival in this tilted universe, which was a rather depressing thought by itself.

The party was being held by Lucas’ brother, as he’d been told, who was apparently some big-shot businessman from Czechia with a large penthouse overlooking the particularly shiny part of town. It was filled to the brim with glitter and yellow leather and far too many modern art pieces, so Lucifer not only didn’t feel at home, but he also felt disgusted by the décor in general.

The company didn’t reflect the environment however, so Lucifer enjoyed himself regardless.

Especially the drugs that these people pretended weren’t flung around like jellybeans at a candy store.

“You’re so talented…” a drunk Asian woman complimented him huskily. “I always wanted to learn how to play the piano…”

“Mhm…” Lucifer said, hooking an arm around her shoulder and drawing her face nearer to his. “Is that all you want, my dear? To play the piano?” he asked, grinning slyly at her with an uncanny intensity, causing her face to slacken slightly in response. “I bet you have another wish you want fulfilled. Something slightly more… exciting, don’t you?”

A short moment went by as the woman’s mouth shaped her next words. “I… I always wanted to… move back to Maine… and become a veterinarian…” she confessed breathlessly, her heavy make-up likely concealing the redness of her face.

Lucifer blinked. “Not exactly what I expected, but… interesting, I suppose. I’d be making a deal with you if I could, but that’s sadly not an option at the moment. Anything else?” he inquired, and the woman nodded her head slowly.

“I want to fuck you on top of a washing machine,” she confessed confidently, only to hastily cover her mouth with her hand in horror a second later.

“Yes! Now we’re talking!” Lucifer crowed, grinning widely. “Your wish is my demand, my strangely animal-altruistic exhibitionist. I bet Marek has a utility room somewhere around here…” he trailed off thoughtfully, taking a glance around the room while stroking his chin, the woman’s face now buried deeply in her hands in absolute embarrassment.

“That’s a neat trick.”

Lucifer’s grin didn’t falter for a second. He turned his head slightly to glance at the owner of the voice.

“Where’d you learn it? Circus? The elusive University of Saint Svengali? Majored in coercive persuasion, no doubt. Does the depth of your intense stare make a difference, or are you just doing that for the effect? – Because something’s definitely working.”

Lucifer let out a hum, letting the completely flustered woman scoot over to her friends at the other side of the couch as he diverted his attention to the man. He was handsome, he noted, if not a little roguish. His smirk was nearly non-existent, but the mischievousness in his voice spoke for his personality well enough.

“It wouldn’t be entirely incorrect to call it hypnotism, I suppose – though I prefer seductive persuasion, myself,” Lucifer answered languidly, leaning back against the couch. “There’s really no force involved besides my own involvement – which is more than enough, I assure you,” he continued, a wide grin on his face. “They want to tell me, you see – I’m simply irresistible. I just have to apply the incentive they need.”

The man let out a snort, taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s quite the statement – and assumption, considering I’m pretty sure you’re full of shit.”

“I don’t lie,” Lucifer countered matter-of-factly.

“Now that’s definitely a lie.”

“The Devil doesn’t lie, my cynical friend.”

“Uh-huh,” the man sounded, raising an eyebrow at him. “What was your name again?”

Lucifer offered a smile. “Lucifer Morningstar, at your service,” he said – then paused and stared off to the side sullenly. “Or not, on further thought, since I’m ridiculously displaced and possibly out of range of any relevant entities possibly desiring my service.”

The no-doubt wealthy man, judging from the designer suit he was wearing, held up a finger for a second as if to pause him. He then turned to look to a random person across the room and spoke loudly. “Um, who gave Satan here drugs? That’s majorly irresponsible and I don’t think he should be having any more of it. He’s performing unsanctioned hypnotism in the lounge area.”

Lucifer took a sip of his own drink. “I do believe this particular type of couch is commonly known as a Chesterfield.”

“Don’t care. Are you on drugs?”

Lucifer nodded. “Very much so, but they didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.”

The man nodded slowly. “That’s… disappointing. Honestly, I hate when that happens. Or happened, seeing as I’ve made a point to avoid hard drugs – or any drugs – lately, as per request from the missus. Don’t do a lot of partying as of late, so my chances are limited to begin with. Got heart problems too, you know.”

“I did not, in fact, know this – but that sounds positively droll. It’s such a wonder humans deign to survive at all when you prance around with ailments capable of killing you at any given moment. I’ve had a taste of it. I’m not a fan.”

“This gets better by the second.”

Lucifer looked at his scotch sadly. “I wish.” He let out a sigh. “The alcohol has accomplished about as much as the drugs. That is to say, next to nothing. I miss LA.”

The man’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You from Los Angeles then? How does that mesh with the Devil shtick you’ve got going on?” He took another sip, but he didn’t seem particularly drunk.

Then again, neither was Lucifer. Downing untold amount of subpar brandy wasn’t the way to go.

“It went marvelously for a while until my partner nearly died, _several times_ , and my mother escaped from Hell. Thank you for enquiring, but I find that I’m quite unwilling to share all my little problems at the moment. As said, I’m miserably displaced and I’m staving off the depression.” Lucifer offered a toast and the man wholeheartedly returned it.

“Well, that sounds peachy.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer said in agreement, and silence followed for a short while.

“Do you even know who I am?” the man asked suddenly.

“I haven’t a clue.”


	4. New acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish chapter, but after the _next_ chapter, things will take off and move onto the far more exciting stuff, promise. ;)
> 
> Loving the comments, and thanks for reading! <3

“That guy. Over there. Do him next.”

Lucifer grinned widely and dutifully sat down next to the young man. “Hello,” he greeted flirtatiously, his lips stretched wide. The man was about to answer, possibly quite negatively judging from his cross expression, but stopped abruptly.

With a dazed expression, the man promptly spoke. “I recently robbed a man of $20.000, stashed it all in a locker inside Meadows Mall and intent to use it to buy enough pesos to disappear into Mexico because my ex-wife’s family is threatening to kill me,” he confessed to Lucifer breathlessly.

“Fascinating! How come?”

“I definitely cheated on her at least 5 times.”

“How thorough. Thank you for your time,” Lucifer told the man, who blinked and awkwardly moved away from him with a disturbed look on his face.

“This is awesome,” his interesting new acquaintance declared, pointing a finger at him. “I have no fucking idea how you do it, but it works – somehow. You’ve got no accomplices, no thought inhibiting drugs, no threats,” he went on. “I’ve checked, and people just tell you highly incriminating, embarrassing and/or confidential things out of the blue.” Tony laughed, but his eyes were thoughtful.

He was very sharp, and Lucifer found that he highly appreciated the man’s demeanor. _Tony Stark_ – as he’d introduced himself with an astounding amount of reluctance after he’d failed to guess who he was. Tony was a man with a very liberal sense of humor – but an _extremely_ limited belief in the supernatural and it amused him endlessly. 

“I’m a pretty smart guy – not that you would know, you disconnected Brit,” Tony tossed at him offhandedly, prompting a chuckle from the Devil, “– and I’ve even met people before who were one camel away from selling sand to Sahara, but this takes it to a whole new level,” the man claimed theatrically, drawing the attention of the surrounding people as well as Lucifer ever did.

Tony sounded entertained. Like a man in a circus waiting for the next act to dazzle him. Lucifer assumed the man didn’t experience genuine intrigue very often and cocked his head inquisitively.

Lucifer hummed, his grin wide and inviting. “Yes, it’s a skill completely unique to me – God-given, in fact. I can’t help but notice, however, that you’re excluding yourself masterfully from this attempt to expose my supposed charlatan ways,” he pointed out, causing Tony to purse his lips.

“Notice that, did you,” Tony stated, rather than asked, visibly unbothered to be found out. “Yeah, no matter where your shit is coming from, I’m still pretty convinced you’re full of it – you’re not getting anywhere near me with that crap.”

“How can you be certain I haven’t already?” Lucifer asked theoretically, leaning closer to the man. “Or is about to?”

Tony leaned back. _Way_ back. “Dunno – but I’m fairly certain my AI would alert me to any sudden press releases if I’d somehow spouted my secrets to a room full of strangers – no offense,” Tony said to Lucifer as well as the people around them, who shrugged in acceptance.

Apparently, Lucifer was the only one who didn’t know who he was. He absently noted to himself to Google the man later for curiosity’s sake. If he was as well-known as he alluded to being, then he must be a unique specimen of this reality.

Lucifer leaned back again, respecting the man’s wish. “I shall keep my devilish ways to myself then,” Lucifer promised, _not pouting at all_ , earning a more than slightly relieved smile from Tony.

They continued to chat back and forth for a little while after that, shelving for now the talk of Lucifer’s _uncanny_ abilities. It didn’t take long for them to pinpoint their shared interests – music, cars, sex, lavish lifestyles – fatherly issues, though none of them touched that topic more than strictly necessary.

…

“Did nobody tell you that I’m a superhero? _Iron Man_. Ring any Satanic church bells? No? The CNN, Fox News – Fuck, what you got across the pond… The Daily Express? The Sunday Times?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ ridiculous?!”

…

“ – And so I bought the building, converted it into a theatre of modern dance and took his wife to bed,” Lucifer finished, and a man laughed.

“ _Classic_ Tony a few years back! You sure you aren’t brothers or something?”

“He’s not _nearly_ virtuous enough for that,” Lucifer denied.

_“Rude.”_

“Darling, that’s a _compliment.”_

…

“I believe this man just called you a man-whore, Tony.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tony swept a hand across the empty coffee table before them. “Behold the field in which I grow my fucks.”

Lucifer nodded. “It is truly a barren land.”

“Indeed, it is.”

…

“There’s no heterosexual explanation for this.”

“I’ve never needed one before – why would I need one now?”

“Touché, Lucy – but I gotta ask you to keep hands off the merchandise regardless. You’re _very_ tempting, but I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“I hardly know where I am, let alone where I’ve been.”

Tony snorted unattractively into his scotch, and Lucifer let the man’s laughter fill the void.

…

After a lengthy discussion on the pros and cons of the 1962 Chevrolet Corvette that Lucifer had been driving in his home universe, the time was well past 2 am and Tony eventually looked to his wristwatch and sighed, standing up.

“It’s been fun – or at least far more interesting than the meeting I had at the Nevada Energy Foundation earlier,” Tony spoke up, as he stood and realigned his suit. “I was initially only here to chat up Marek for his contacts in Europe, but – it was honestly just a successful attempt to procrastinate flying straight back to New York with only a lame-ass meeting to speak for a trip to Las Vegas,” he laughed.

“Thank you – Lucifer, or whatever the Hell you’re actually named. Maybe I’ll see you around before I leave,” he said absentmindedly, as the man had already turned and walked towards the door. Evidently, the man had other things to do.

Lucifer watched him walk away, a faint smile still lingering on his lips.

 _Tony Stark…_ he mused, flicking his lighter to ignite the cigarette in his hand.

“Lucifer! Come join us!” someone called from the balcony doors, and Lucifer really couldn’t resist.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he got up to follow the sirens. The thoughts of the conversation left him swiftly as his attention was dragged to other more pleasant and distracting activities.

-6-6-6-

Lucifer was at the piano again. It was the only thing he had left, so that was generally where he could be found at times like these. That is to say – early noon.

The previous night he’d fallen into bed with an odd amount of people, which had been a nice affair all around if he hadn’t ultimately been awoken by a sharp elbow to the temple. A rude awakening to be sure, but he hadn’t really desired to stay there longer than necessary anyway.

None of the blondes in his bed was in quite the right shade, after all.

He might’ve gotten somewhere around 3 hours of sleep, which wasn’t a lot and not nearly enough to satisfy him. He spent most of the morning hours indulging in some gambling – some classical 3-cards poker and hazard – sorry, _casino_ _craps_ tied him up for a good hour of his time. He didn’t particularly regret it, though, as he now sat quite cozily with his winnings resting pleasantly in front of him on the surface of the grand piano that he’d seized from the greedy hands of the lousy lounge player.

He expected they’d go a long way to a new apartment.

The part in the casino/hotel he now occupied was very sparsely filled with people. A few patrons were discussing business at the bar far to his right, and he could faintly hear people mingling about in the seating areas lining the sections overlooking the larger expanse of the casino lounge. He’d been doing a fine job tuning out the random babble of the nobodies surrounding him, simply playing his maudlin melodies with thoughts realities away… right up until someone interrupted his somber flow.

Lucifer opened his eyes tiredly and glanced up to find Tony Stark, staring at him curiously with a reserved smile on his lips.

“Well if it isn’t the resident lord of Hell. How’s the sin of gambling working out for you?” Tony asked amiably, eyeing the winnings clearly visible on the table.

“Tony,” Lucifer purred in greeting, “truly _lovely_ to see you again. I half-expected never to lay my eyes on that impeccably groomed goatee ever again,” he admitted. “– and it’s going quite well, as you can tell,” he continued, motioning to the box of tokens. “The morning was fruitful. Franklin was truly an _excellent_ dealer, and by the end of this day, he’ll _know_ my appreciation.”

“Not sure flirting with the staff is allowed in this casino – or any casino – but A+ for maximum effort, I suppose. And… yes, I can see you’ve actually managed not-a-terrible amount of winnings. Well done, Satan.“

“Call me Lucifer.”

“If you say so. Still convinced you’re utterly insane, just so you know. Had partly hoped the drugs would’ve left your system by now, but no dice, apparently.”

“Not an uncommon reaction, if I’m being honest. And I am, as a principle. I pride myself in my honesty, but whether or not you believe me isn’t something I’m prioritizing right now. Rest assured, however, _Mr. Stark_ , that I’m here purely by accident and have no ill intentions. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly devilish to me. Where’s the fire? The brimstone? The horns and tail?” Tony inquired with evident amusement, and Lucifer cracked a sardonic smile.

“Disgustingly cliché, wouldn’t you say?”

Tony shrugged. “So no horns?”

“No horns.”

“Pity,” Tony responded, looking around. “Wanna go for a snack?”

Surprised, Lucifer leered. “In your suite, perchance?”

“Hah, nope. In a committed relationship here, and I’m definitely not going anywhere with you alone, Beelzebub. Just have a few hours to kill before I’m off to the airport.” An impatient looking fellow stood a few steps behind Tony, looking sourly and incredibly tense. Lucifer assumed he was a bodyguard of some sort.

Why a supposed _superhero_ – if the internet was to be believed – needed a bodyguard in the first place, he couldn’t fathom.

Lucifer also got the feeling that there was something Tony wasn’t telling him. Suspecting that the invitation wasn't quite as genuine as he'd first assumed, Lucifer narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Pity,” Lucifer echoed, reaching for his glass of cognac.

“So – what’re you doing up this early, Lucy? Pretty sure I saw you snort like 5 lines of coke and inhale just as many shots of absinthe last night, not to mention all the roofies you pretended weren’t slipped into your drinks,” Tony noted, correctly in fact, tapping a finger on the surface of the piano. “So what is it? Insomnia? A psychosis? Still gonna try to convince me you’re literally the Devil, or has all the stuff you chugged seriously already evaporated?”

“You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who isn’t interested in the answers I give you, darling,” Lucifer noted, rotating on his seat to grant Tony his full attention, a smirk on his lips. “Completely ignoring that, however _– yes_ , still the Devil, and yes – I’m depressingly sober if you must know. I _told_ you – it’s an issue that’s hard to solve. The effects of drugs and alcohol simply don’t hold for very long. It’s not _my_ fault,” he finished, disgruntlement evident in his tone. Tony raised both eyebrows.

“Right – issues. I must admit I’m having difficulties with that part,” he said, before leaning over the piano and staring Lucifer down with a smile full of promises.

“Especially seeing as _you don’t exist,”_ he said smartly, his voice lowered a smidgen as to not be overheard.

The man’s grin was victorious, and Lucifer didn’t even bother contradicting him, though he admitted he was surprised Tony had found him out so fast. Lucifer really _did_ have issues, but his continued lack of identity was really the least of it.

That didn’t stop him from feeling some annoyance, however.

Appearing undaunted, Lucifer hummed in answer, slightly impressed despite himself. “Yes – quite inconvenient, actually. I usually have a plan in mind for establishing myself when I come top-side, but this little trip of mine had me more than a little blind-sided, and so I’ve neglected to legitimize myself. Apologies if my lack of papers disturb you,” Lucifer apologized insincerely. Tony snorted.

“You’re not the only illegal immigrant in this great country of ours. Shit, far from it – not that it’s really any of my business. I’m in clean energy now – not immigration. No – what’s kind of unusual in this scenario, Mr. Lucifer Morningstar, A.K.A Unknown Anonymous with the _insultingly_ fake name, is that you literally don’t exist. Anywhere. Not until a few weeks ago, where you’re seen in a few stores in Los Angeles, and now in Las Vegas,” Tony paused, staring at him expectantly, before continuing.

“I’ve dealt with people with false identities before – even created a few – but I’ve sure as Hell never dealt with someone who didn’t have one _at all._ Interesting, that’s for sure. Annoying as fuck, too.”

“I’m not quite sure what you expect me to do about it,” Lucifer said, shrugging lightly and causing Tony to squint at him. “As said – I’m displaced. Ergo – no identity. People make you up to be quite the intellect, Tony, so I expect this shouldn’t be too complicated a concept for you to understand. _I’m not supposed to be here.”_

“You’re crazy – that’s what you are. And apparently also a paper trail Houdini, because I’ve had my AI run you all night, and I’ve got nothing. I don’t like mysteries, and you keep producing them like the bullshit you keep feeding me,” Tony asserted, stroking his goatee. “But – I also can’t deny that you’ve got a very useful skill that I can’t with certainty say is entirely faked…” he said lastly with palpable irritation, trailing off into a meaningful silence that spoke of whatever plans the man had in mind. 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, an amused grin taking over his face. “Oh? Is that the sound of imminent exploitation I hear? Do tell me more,” he tempted, his dark eyes boring into those of Tony. “What is it that you _desire_ , Tony Stark?” Lucifer asked with obvious enjoyment – yet he didn’t compel him. He’d made something resembling a promise, after all.

Tony visibly paused, as if suddenly, uncharacteristically, uncertain of whatever plan he’d impulsively concocted. The man looked to his bodyguard, then back to Lucifer – and answered anyway.

“I have a… puzzle, that you might be able to help me with,” he admitted in a hush, a small smile slipping past his uncertainty, much to the frustration of the bodyguard.

Lucifer really did like Tony very much. It was a shame he wasn’t a resident of his own reality.

“Right,” Lucifer said, standing up and realigning his suit – regretfully the same one he wore the previous evening, which he was certain Tony had noticed and had elected not to comment on.

“I haven’t made a deal in quite some time, but I’m usually always up for some healthy negotiations,” he said smilingly. “Do you have somewhere to talk?” he inquired, to which the wealthy man with a stature limitation nodded and waved at him to follow, his hands going to his pockets.

After placing Lucifer’s winnings in safekeeping, they moved towards the exit.

“Happy – we’re going for a drive.”

‘Happy’ pursed his lips but didn’t comment. “Yes, sir. Same precautions?”

“No, actually,” Tony denied, guiding them to a fine-looking black Bentley in front of the doors. “Let’s make it as easy as possible,” Tony informed cryptically. Happy nodded, opened the back doors and allowed Tony and Lucifer to enter, before entering himself and revealing himself as the chauffeur, and not the bodyguard he’d assumed him to be.


	5. Hard Bargains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the awesome comments - they brighten my morning every time! <3 
> 
> The next chapter might take a little while longer than usual, so have patience with me. 
> 
> Shit's going down in this chapter, but it's only gonna get wilder from here. You may consider the prologue'ish part if this story done. Next up - The Avengers 1.

It didn’t take long for Lucifer to break the silence.

“Oh hello – a mini-fridge!” the would-be Devil exclaimed in glee, immediately starting to rummage through the little refrigerator that came with the luxury car. Tony let the crazy man pour however much his little alcoholic heart desired and waited for the man’s attention once more.

After a few minutes of random babble about vintage wine brands and bar standards, Tony coughed pointedly, forcibly directing Lucifer’s attention to himself, as it seemed no amount of waiting would magically grant it.

Go figure.

“As said – I have a puzzle. Well, a _problem.”_

“You have more than that, darling – just look at the sad state of this mini-fridge! The bottle is far too small. What do they expect me to do with this? Take a single shot of tequila and move on to the orange juice? Not bloody likely, I say. They didn’t even provide any lemons!” the man complained, distracting Tony for a few seconds before he shook his head and refocused _himself._

By God, this guy was distracting – and coming from Tony, that was quite the feat.

It didn’t help that the man was really quite attractive, however much Tony tried not to focus on it. The guy was freakishly alluring, and he’d bet half his fortune that his creepy hypnotic abilities were connected to that magnetic charm somehow.

Nobody was simply _that_ appealing.

“If I could just adhere your wandering focus to my lips for a measly few seconds, Morningstar,” Tony grumbled, earning a quite frankly _sinful_ stare from the man, which he willfully ignored. “Thank you – I think. To get to the point of this impromptu shady car meeting of ours – of which I’ll have you know that I am more than capable of throwing you out at top speed at any given moment if necessary – “ he paused meaningfully, “…could you be… persuaded – to help me out? Using your voodoo-thingy whatever-you-do?”

Releasing the items that he’d stolen from the refrigerator and gingerly closing it again, Lucifer the Wannabe Lord of Darkness leaned back like a great black cat and looked at him with all the imperiousness of Tony Stark’s teenage years personified.

“Mmh…” Lucifer made a sound, whatever it meant he wasn’t sure, but the man looked considerate. “Depends on what I get out of the deal, naturally. I have extensive experience aiding police detectives using my gifts, you see, so I feel that I should be well-compensated for my expertise, wouldn’t you say?”

“Reasonable… Sounds fucking ridiculous, but yes – I’ll compensate you. Never paid for the service of a delusional British hypnotist detective before, but there’s a first time for everything, and everything is usually also what I’m capable of paying for. So – what number am I writing on the – “

“Ah ah, darling – hold your horses,” he was interrupted, to which Tony shut his mouth and raised an eyebrow at the _audacity_. The Brit continued. “The task first. I can’t very well judge the appropriateness of the reward if I don’t know the nature of the job, now can I? Added to that –,” he paused, his grin Cheshire in every possible way. “I’m not interested in your fortune, _Tony_.”

“That’s… disturbing. But okay, sure, we can do that,” he decided, reorganizing himself. “Alright, so – there’s these people who’ve been following – “

“Ooh, a stalker!” Lucifer exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Not by itself inherently nefarious, but nonetheless a nuisance, to be sure,” Lucifer nodded. Tony took the interruption in stride this time and simply returned the nod.

“Eh, yeah – some people are stalking me and have been for a couple of weeks now. Thought they’d leave me be for a while if I showed up personally to a meeting in Nevada, but alas, these fuckers don’t take a single hint.”

“How uncouth,” the Brit concurred.

“Right,” Tony nodded once more. They were also a potential risk towards Pepper, so they really had to go.

“So, the problem is that I have no idea who they are, and I can’t for the life of me figure it out. Seems to be a theme lately,” he stressed, leveling a momentary sullen glare at Lucifer, who swallowed up his disgruntlement with relish by the looks of it.

“My AI doesn’t seem to be able to find anything – which is just driving me right up the wall, I tell you – and they’re too damned in-character to give anything away for a standard arrest to have any effect on them – and _yes_ , I’ve tried,” Tony remarked, wrinkling his nose. “BUT – they _are_ surprisingly trackable geographically,” Tony said finally, a grin growing on his lips.

Lucifer chuckled. “A man of many resources, indeed – I like your style,” Lucifer divulged, smiling widely. “Essentially – you simply want to utilize another resource at your disposal,” he guessed correctly.

Tony nodded, staring at him expectantly. No need to pretend like this wasn’t exactly what it was. Lucifer didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, so Tony went with it.

“How do you know I’m not one of them?” Lucifer questioned sensibly, his smirk ever-present.

“Of course, I considered it,” Tony responded honestly. “You’re just as non-existent – but I’ve found no correlation so far, and even if it turns out you’re hired by them, I’d consider this conversation as a whole a win by default. But seriously – if these people are gonna send literal nobodies after me – why shouldn’t I do the same? No offense.

“Taken,” Lucifer said.

“Pfft. Okay – but you get the idea. Fight fire with fire and all.”

“That one I understand perfectly,” the man grinned with a finger pointed at him, before continuing. “Alright. I’ll have a chat with the persona non grata of the hour and gain the information you require. Any other requests?”

“Yeah – tell them to go to Hell. Should be simple enough for you.”

“Oh, definitely,” Lucifer laughed, and if Tony didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn a spark of fire ignited in the man’s eyes out of pure excitement.

“I’ve got access to the security cameras in the whole area, so all you gotta do is make the guy confess all his dirty little secrets to the open, heavily-monitored, air, and… that’s it. Finito – you’re done,” Tony explained, and Lucifer seemed to find that acceptable. Tony elected to _avoid_ mentioning the possibility of the guy having access to firearms or other means of offense, silently banging on the fact that this crazy Englishman likely wouldn’t give a damn.

Even if it did come to that, Tony wouldn’t be far away.

The car stopped and Lucifer suddenly grew serious. “Now, for my part of the bargain.”

Tony waited patiently and wasn’t particularly surprised by what Lucifer requested.

“I want an identity – papers, records, the whole shebang – a phone. Oh – and your contact information.”

“Uhuh… the last one – why?”

“Well, Mr. Stark – as a whole, this is an unequal exchange. Usually, I don’t demand payment upon delivery, but this is a special case. I have an urgent need and you are pretending _not_ to hold my non-existence, as you call it, over my head. Since I can’t leave these damned lands, this is a problem.”

Tony denied nothing and Lucifer simply continued.

“Besides, I’ve since had the time to do a little research on you, Anthony Edward Stark – and you’re quite the influential man! I’m in a bit of a pickle if you haven’t noticed, and having your resources available to me in the future would be a boon like no other in this sorry excuse for a universe.”

“Flattered and creeped out.”

“Good,” Lucifer asserted, leaning closer. His face now depicting perfectly his displeasure.

“I want your information simply because of the _insult_ of you _daring_ to _insinuate_ to blackmail me. What I do with it is none of your concern, but you’ll have equal access to mine, so I do not believe you have much to complain about.”

There were no demands for Tony to be available via the requested information, so Tony squinted his eyes slightly and reluctantly agreed with the man. He was pretty sure there was a rule somewhere that said not to argue with the insane, so Tony ultimately decided to listen to it.

They shook each other’s hands firmly and when they arrived at an appropriate location, the doors unlocked. Lucifer took the hint and moved to exit the car, leaning into the vehicle with an expression of great enjoyment.

“Congratulations, Mr. Stark – you’ve just made your first deal with the Devil.”

“Trust me, this is not the first time I’ve made a deal with the Devil.”

“No, trust _me,_ Stark – yes, it is.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous as _fuck._

And then the crazy fellow left towards the small space between buildings across from the street they were parked at, somehow knowing exactly where to go and exactly which shady character to aim at.

Happy looked at him with such a disappointed look on his face.

“What?” Tony asked. Happy simply shook his head and allowed the screen in the car to lower, showing the image of the alleyway Lucifer had just entered.

“Ok then, Satan – work your magic.”

-6-6-6-

“Hello,” Lucifer greeted brightly.

“Good afternoon,” the man in the dark grey suit greeted back, having pretended to browse his phone, and then continuing to do just that.

Strolling towards the bastard with balls large enough to stalk a superhero and then proceed to ignore the Devil, Lucifer felt distinctly disappointed to note that the man wouldn’t look out of place at the front desk of a highway motel. The standard model of a non-descript bore, he gathered.

“If I could just have a moment of your time,” Lucifer said then, and the mustached man looked up again, suspiciousness oozing off of him.

“What do you want?”

Raising an eyebrow at the attitude, Lucifer took his time lighting a cigarette before answering the man, blowing a cloud of smoke into the distance between them.

“I would like to know why you’re following Anthony Edward Stark around like a foot fungus,” he said straight to the point, not wasting any more time.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir,” the man answered blankly, taking a step to leave the alleyway, his paranoia having seemingly quintupled in a matter of seconds.

“Ah, ah – no. You don’t get to leave, this conversation has barely started, and I haven’t yet accomplished anything but establishing your general boorishness,” he said, taking a hold of the man’s shoulder and keeping him from moving further away.

“Sir, you – “

“ – are very impatient. So how about you tell me what I need to know. I don’t think I’m asking for much,” Lucifer stated pleasantly, but the guy shrugged his shoulder away from him and took a larger step away.

“With all due respect, sir – fuck off.”

“I think not.”

Yet he went ignored.

Not taking this lying down, Lucifer grabbed the man again and this time he pushed him straight into the brick wall of the building to their right, his hand pressed firmly to the chest of the human under his power. The man let out an _oof_ and blinked as if startled.

With the man now restrained, cooperation would follow in due time.

“Let go of me,” the man demanded coolly, his steely eyes set stubbornly and not the least bit intimidated, yet.

“That’d be rather counter-productive,” Lucifer denied him, narrowing his eyes at the stalker, who still didn’t look particularly inclined to cooperate.

“Sir,” the man started strongly, but Lucifer’s patience had run out half-way through the syllable.

“You’re currently stuck between me and a hard place, _sir_ , so I advise you to discontinue your opposition – it's not doing you any good and it’s kind of pathetic. _Speak._ Who do you work for, what is the _purpose_ of this absurd stalking and do you harbor any harmful intentions towards Mr. Stark _?_ ”

“Let go of me,” the man said threateningly and offering no answers. The Devil pressed him a little harder against the wall in response to his unwillingness, attempting to establish eye-contact with the shifty-eyed man.

“I’m warning you,” the worm tried again, the light-brown feather duster masquerading as a mustache twitching in agitation.

Lucifer didn’t heed the threat, however. He continued to press.

Which had seemed like a good idea, right up until the stalker informed him that he was armed in the most unfortunate way possible – by pressing the nozzle of his silencer-equipped gun into his side.

“Let. Go of me. _Sir_ ,” his current adversary articulated, looking deadly serious. “Or I will have you arrested.”

“Arrested!” Lucifer said, affronted. “Which one of us is, A, stalking a celebrity, and B, currently threatening gun violence on a stranger?”

“You’re obstructing an investigation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t give a damn about your investigations,” Lucifer informed the man, who then made a show of disengaging his safety.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the gun – then smiled condescendingly at his armed prisoner. The man seemed confused by Lucifer’s lack of concern.

“No need for that,” Lucifer purred, and the man’s eyebrows furrowed as Lucifer leaned in closer, finally locking eyes with him. “Shoot me if you will, but I know that that isn’t what you _truly_ desire.”

The man stared silently at him, lips parting.

“I…”

“Yes?” Lucifer grinned. “What do you want, my wayward stalker – tell Lucifer your secrets,” he encouraged, and eventually, after a surprising amount of convincing, the man caved like a very sturdy house of cards.

“I’m… I’m an agent of… SHIELD. I’m tasked with ascertaining Mr. Starks business relations –”

“Who or what is this _SHIELD?”_

“SHIELD stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We are – “

“An organization of secret agents of the government? You must be jesting, surely.”

Blinking, the man continued despite Lucifer’s disbelief that this was even happening. “Anthony Stark has been deemed a volatile element and an ongoing investigation into his life has been initiated to determine his suitability for national and international security forces – “

“Right, right – you types are all about national security, aren’t you? Seems a tad bit redundant to focus all that energy stalking a _superhero_ for being a potential asset to national security,” Lucifer commented with bemusement, continuing.

“All very interesting, I’m sure. Your employers likely have their own misguided reasons for this nonsensicality, but what do YOU want, secret agent man? What do you _desire_?” Lucifer stressed, his tolerance for this man’s poor facial grooming decreasing the longer he had to stare at it.

“I want to… expose him,” the man admitted finally, forehead crinkling in slight distress. “I want to bring evidence of his irresponsibility before my superiors and ultimately cause the disqualification of his eligibility and the confiscation of his assets. That’s why I accepted this assignment. He doesn’t… I don’t think he – _nobody_ – should be allowed to have access to this power without ensuring accountability.”

Lucifer wrinkled his nose in disapproval. “It’s _his_ power. _He made it_ – if the internet and Mr. Stark is to be believed. What say do _you_ have over what he does with his own inventions? His abilities?”

“I’m an agent of –“

“I couldn’t care less which piece of battle equipment you work for. I see it in your eyes – this is not merely business for you – it’s personal!” Lucifer insisted, and the agent’s eyes flashed.

“He’s undependable. Unfit for leadership, an alcoholic, he’s partied away while his employees suffered economic losses due to his negligence, withheld vital information important for national security, caused _untold_ damage to – “

“I see,” Lucifer interrupted – and he did see. He really, _really_ did. He believed he now understood Tony Stark’s issue with this man and his employers.

“You’re envious of him, aren’t you?” Lucifer spoke lowly, taking a hold of the man’s jacket. “You think him unworthy!”

“What – No. Sir, I don’t – “ the man’s hand slackened slightly, the gun gliding off Lucifer’s hip as he stared wide-eyed at the Devil.

“You are! Don’t lie to me – I detest liars and charlatans and dimwits like you who covet powers that you don’t deserve. Powers you couldn’t possibly utilize to their fullest potential.”

“I – “

“I don’t want to hear it!”

During Lucifer’s small rant, the agent stared in frightened silence while Lucifer held him pinned to the wall by the lapels, seemingly unable to regain control of the situation. All the better – this man didn’t have a leg to stand on, independent of his current suspension.

Before the Devil had the chance to finish his complaints, the agent’s eyes unclouded quite suddenly and a look of utter dread crossed the man’s face.

“No…” the man muttered, stopping Lucifer in his tracks.

“You will _listen_ to me – “ he started once more but was cut short by a low-sounding bang.

Silence followed.

The man was dropped to the ground and scrambled several paces away from Lucifer, who stood still and inspected his body. 

Placing a hand on his side, he fingered the hole burnt into his shirt and scowled at it. He shifted his attention to the agent again, who stared wide-eyed and terrified at the man he’d just attempted and failed to murder.

_The absolute nerve._

“You _dare_ – “

“Get away from me!”

“ – to shoot me!”

“Stay away!” Another silent shot sounded, and Lucifer hissed at the impact. He’d had quite enough.

Taking two large steps forward, he grabbed the man by the arms and hauled him up again and held him against the wall with one hand against the throat, the agent dropping his gun to the floor.

Barring his teeth at the man, Lucifer’s visage slipped and blurred until his red, cracked skin shone through – his burning red eyes glaring fiercely into the envious, undeserving _sinner_ in his hands.

The man screamed.

-6-6-6-

Tony stared at the broken screen in front of him.

It wasn’t broken because it was defective, or because the glass had slid out of place or due to faulty design or color quality, or even because it failed to turn on. No.

No, Tony had punched it quite instantly.

– and now the broken glass screen showed him an even more fucked-up image of a red-eyed should-be-dead motherfucker who may or may not be insane after all.

Tony was well on his way there, however, and texted Happy to get rid of the screen as well as get the He – _get away_ from there immediately, because he didn’t trust himself to convey the usual amount of confidence and refused to listen to his own momentary terror reflected in his voice.

Happy, thankfully, did exactly as told, and Tony was left with a notification from JARVIS that Lucifer had let the _agent of SHIELD_ go – alive but understandably unstable – and had vacated the area quite mysteriously after finding them gone.

Tony palmed his face tiredly, his poor abused heart not quite able to follow along with the added stress Tony’d just accumulated in less that 5 minutes.

When Tony later sat in his private jet, he’d had some time to contemplate – _that he’d spent last night chatting up goddamned Satan_ – and quickly got to arranging what he’d promised to provide – because no way IN HELL did he want to be the guy who didn’t deliver on his end of the deal with the Lord of the Damned.

No fucking way. He was already a raging idiot – this whole shitshow had definitely spelled out his lingering irresponsibility issues out for him and bent them in neon for his whole ego to see – but he refused to somehow be an even bigger fucktart by involving his loved-ones in the consequences of his out-of-this-world moronic, _impulsive_ decisions.

_At this point,_ Tony thought to himself with self-deprecating incredulity, _it couldn’t possibly go anywhere but up for me._

He had some soul-searching to do. Clearly and _literally,_ because that SHIELD agent had been _right._

And when he sat at his workstation that evening, content with knowing that Lucifer must’ve received his phone, passwords, and papers by now, he made one more bad decision and sent a text message.

_> Quite the show. Thanks for the help. _

Sweet – to the point. The Devil should appreciate some gratefulness, right? A compliment. Brownie points mattered. Definitely.

A full two hours later, the only response he got was a fucking _devil emoji_ and a Snapchat invitation.

Tony cursed so hard that JARVIS sent for Pepper, after which the wonderful woman herded him to bed, where no sleep was achieved whatsoever.


	6. No Jokes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another mini-chapter to spell the start of the Avenger's movie!
> 
> Literally wrote all of this today due to the general enthusiasm I've received. The NEXT chapter might take a little longer. It's gonna be a ride and I'm going to enjoy it - and I hope you will as well. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The Bentley was absent when he returned, which shouldn’t have struck him as surprising – but it did. 

Even worse, it took Lucifer two whole minutes of looking around curiously before he stopped and palmed his face in realization. Sighing deeply with both discontentment and mortification at the momentous error he’d just committed, he rubbed the tiredness and lingering reds out of his eyes before looking up searchingly.

“Good grief,” he said grimly. “Am I completely hopeless after all?”

Nothing answered him and he had a hard time being indifferent about it.

Of course, Tony had left him. He’d been _watching._

 _What a train wreck,_ Lucifer thought to himself angrily. _I perform as expected, but without the detec –_ her _here, I budge everything up anyway. Am I this dependent on her? Can I even_ live _without her?_

Once again, the agony of his situation tormented him.

The Devil spent another minute feeling sorry for himself and then smacked some sense into his perception of self-worth because he did _not_ have time for this kind of self-flagellation right now.

He had to set himself to rights, and eventually figure out how to get to Hell.

So he promptly left the dirty alleyway and got to work.

After he’d received what he’d been promised – thank _himself_ for small mercies, because his Father deserved gratefulness absolutely _never_ – he set about purchasing a new place to live.

But understandably, turning a new leaf meant a new location for him. It always did – but even though the sight of the American flag itself added to his anguish, he couldn’t shake the country just yet. He couldn’t explain why, but a certain sense of duty kept him there and so he settled on merely changing city, unwilling to go to war against himself more than he already was.

San Francisco – it turned out – was a lovely location, and the upper echelons of society there were much more amendable for business once an identity could be evidenced for credibility.

He would spend the next couple of months there, making deals, brokering bargains between parties and doing it all _alone._

Lucifer found the will to enjoy himself, however. Of course, he did – but every time he absentmindedly attempted to make a call to a missing friend or saw a lock of the perfect shade of blonde escape through the streets, his heart felt a little heavier and his will a little weaker.

-6-6-6-

_Two months later_

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him.”

Inclining his head in reluctant acknowledgment of the Grand Agent’s words, Tony bit the tip of his thumb instead of verbalizing his thoughts. He suspected they weren’t particularly wanted, anyway.

“Let’s start with that stick of his,” Steven Rogers, Captain fucking America, spoke up. “It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon,” the soldier theorized.

Later, Tony would identify this moment as a great mistake.

Tony immediately zoned out at the word _magical_ , his attention having been snatched abruptly the second the word left the good Captain’s mouth. His speedy head swivel and wide eyes had – _unfortunately_ – not gone unnoticed and he felt Thor’s eyes on him as surely as agent Romanov’s

The swearwords that sailed through Tony’s head were numerous.

“I don't know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys,” Nick Fury grumbled while sounding as insulted as possible.

“Monkeys? I do not understand,” Thor informed them, befuddled.

“I do! I understood that reference,” Steve declared proudly with a smile.

Not even Captain America’s enthusiasm managed to snap Tony out of his funk, though. The funk he’d been in and out of for several months now. Judging from the range of strange stares that were intermittently sent in his general direction now, his alarm was starting to bother even them.

“Are you telling me that your agent is _brain-washed_ … by _magical_ means?” Tony hesitantly questioned Fury, making a brave attempt at sounding derisive about it.

Thor twitched slightly in annoyance. “I acknowledge that this might sound farfetched to you, Man of Iron, but magic is as real as any other energy in this universe. My own brother is a master in the art of mysticism and magic, and so is our mother.’

Instinct made him open his mouth – to refute the complete hogwash that whole sentence was comprised of – but he snapped it shut again. Tony nodded slowly.

Now, Fury and agent Romanov were _really_ suspicious. The collective amount of distrust was actually starting to sting a little. They’d likely expected him to make a fuss – but he couldn’t. Tony _knew_ he was acting very out of character, but the mere idea that magic, and then _brain-washing_ in particular – was involved had knocked him off his metaphorical horse.

_Damn it all._

Banner himself looked queasy at the mere idea of magic, but it was Fury that had to ask.

“From your question, I get the feeling that it isn’t the discussion on magic that has you worried. What about the _brain-washing_ concerns you, Stark?” Fury’s look said he wouldn’t budge on the issue and the billionaire did _not_ appreciate that. The only one who was allowed to be more stubborn than _him_ was _Pepper._

Tony pressed his lips together and looked off to the side, considering.

“I may… know a guy,” he settled on.

“ _’May know a guy,’_ ” Fury parroted with palpable annoyance, leather-clad arms crossed over his chest.

Tony nodded, sucking his teeth and getting it over with.

“Very nice - very persuasive. VERY persuasive. Most probably magical. Admitted it more or less. Actually no, he made it pretty damned clear,” he confessed. The ball was rolling and there was no earthly force that could stop it now.

“You’re telling me you know a _mind-controller_ , Stark?”

Tony had the decency to wince. “He’s more than a mind-controller,” he admitted.

“This is not the time for games, Stark,” Steve asserted sternly. Thor looked beyond confused.

“No games. No lies. Definitely not from this guy. Wouldn’t trust him even if his name wasn’t literally synonymous with ultimate betrayal, but he most _definitely_ doesn’t lie,” he babbled on, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he shifted on his feet.

“You think this guy of yours might be able to help Agent Barton?” the Black Widow asked. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she sounded hopeful – though nonetheless dangerous as fuck, her eyes basically daring Tony to be making jokes about this.

“I – don’t know. He might… he might be willing to do something for the right price. I’m not so sure if I can get away quite so cheaply a second time though…” he trailed off. He was weirdly hesitant, and he knew it. Everyone saw it and he silently cursed the looks of concern thrown his way. He did not need this. 

“Stark…” Steve muttered. Tony didn’t answer.

Instead, he took a deep breath and took a seat at the table, his face buried in his hands briefly as he turned the idea over in his head. The room was now oddly quiet as everyone slowly gathered that Tony _wasn’t joking._

Something, or someone, had been bothering him and the issue was currently warring within him, the battle clear as day.

“Man of Iron – you know of a sorcerer from Midgard? I didn’t know you possessed this skill,” Thor spoke up, unable to read the room.

“We don’t, Point Break, we really don’t – as far as I know. I can’t really say that… this guy, is actually _from_ here. Not really. Otherworldly, like yourself, probably – but we’re more familiar with _him_ than we are with _you_.”

“You’ve contact with another alien life form and haven’t informed us?” Fury interrogated him borderline aggressively.

“You could say that. More like I’ve _actively_ worked on keeping him away from you, but that’s semantics at this point.” Tony waved the agent off.

Fury, probably wanting to be very pissed, looked at Stark with clear-cut expectations and a demand ready on his tongue.

But no, Tony realized. _No._

Tony shook his head suddenly and slapped both hands into the table, standing up again.

“Nope. No. Isn’t worth it. Can’t be making deals with the Devil with so many unknown variables. We need to find the cube. We have enough shady business with otherworldly creatures as it is and he’s currently lounging in our floating basement. Dr. Banner,” Tony directed at the bespectacled man.

Banner perked up at the address as Tony started moving towards the door – pretending everything was fine, even though it really wasn’t, and hadn’t been for quite a while.

“Let’s go play,” he said, letting Banner catch up while everyone’s eyes following them as they vacated the room.

Calling Lucifer had to be _last_ resort.

-6-6-6-

_Later that afternoon_

Staring at the dead fish that was currently Clint Barton on a hospital bed, Tony Stark was starting to feel the familiar feeling of alarm again. It could, of course, also be the remnants of smoke lingering in the air wreaking a little havoc on his lungs, but Tony doubted he was that lucky.

They’d done it, of course. Kept the Helicarrier from pancaking against the ocean. The Black Widow had even managed to hit agent Barton over the head and dispel the effect of Loki’s staff – but the concern of brain-washing remained and now, on top of that very valid worry, an army from outer space was at their doorstep and expected to arrive within the day.

Tony highly doubted Loki had merely invited them over to diplomatically take over the entire planet, if that was even a thing, so something had to be done and as had been pointed out to him before –

Tony had resources at his disposal.

They were down one Thunder God, one dependable agent, a giant rage monster and a lot of self-esteem that Captain America wasn’t making up for, so Tony was beginning to see no other choice but to do what he did best.

Improvise the ever-loving fuck out of the situation.

“We’re expected back on the main deck,” Natacha the assassin said, causing a chill to run through him.

_Sneaky spider woman._

“I hear you,” he responded, determined not to showcase his unease. “I’ll be right there, Natalie – just gotta bandage this hole that was punctured through my pinky finger by an errant piece of sharp-ass metal flung at me from a burning, exploding airplane piloted by enemy forces commanded by an alien prince from magical space-Norway.”

“5 minutes.”

“My nurse will have words with you, mark my words.”

Snorting softly, Natacha watched him as he dutifully put on a small bandage and consequently left the room.


	7. An Important Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the start of absolute madness - I've been looking forward to it, and you cannot believe how much. 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments! They warm my heart and fuel my interest in producing chapters as fast as I can. I've restarted my internship now, so my time for writing has once again become limited, but I'm not gonna let it stop me! 
> 
> The next chapter will also take a little while. Battles are notoriously difficult to write, after all. ;)

“Lucifer, you’ve got to see what they’re saying in television – it’s _insane_ –”

“Does it in any way, shape or form involve _me?”_

The bed partner of the day, Paulo, furrowed his brows at him. “What? No – “

“Is it raining fire, blood or _locusts_?”

“No – why would – “

“Has the platypus finally become extinct?”

Paulo blinked. “I don’t know, but –“

“Did you have sex with Jorgen?”

“…Yes,” Paulo admitted, frustrated and embarrassed both. “How did you – “

“Are you perchance in possession of the Ceylon Golden Tips tea that I asked Fiona to pick up for me last Tuesday, and that should already be soaking in my cup at this very moment?”

“Ah – no _, but –!_ “

“Then I’m pretty sure I don’t care.” And with that, the discussion was closed.

Unable to regain his attention, Paulo gave up and resumed more easily manageable activities – like writing his ph. D thesis in immunology in less than a week or maybe even wrestling a hippo into submission. 

-6-6-6-

He’d thrown the cards onto the table, literally and metaphorically. Had cajoled them into rediscovering the purpose of their mission and the lives they were responsible for protecting. He’d seen their eyes harden with never-before-imagined strength and had even witnessed Tony Stark’s iron-forged resolve shape itself into a certain measure of reliability – a thing he’d previously thought too fantastical to hope for.

A change had overcome them – Fury could see it plain as day as the remaining Avengers, singed and bruised, sat before him with a clear goal in mind.

Iron Man had deducted that Loki was headed to his tower in New York, if he wasn’t there already, and Fury believed him.

Yet they hadn’t taken off in one of his jets like he expected they would.

Instead, they stood and sat around the large table on the main deck once again, a few smears of blood from the trading cards still staining its surface. A sight that had the rather impatient looking Captain noticeably agitated.

It was Tony Stark that ultimately revealed why the heroes hadn’t yet departed.

“How desperate are you, Fury?” Stark asked him with a forced casualness that instantly had Fury on edge.

Clearly and understandably, Stark was having doubts about their ability to handle the threat when so many of the team were missing. He’d entertain the question, he thought, if only to get the annoying man off his back and into his flying death trap. 

“At this moment?” Fury inquired blandly, narrowing his eyes at the engineer. “I’m willing to explore my options,” he told him truthfully.

“Right,” Stark said, clapping his hands and causing Rogers to wince. “If that isn’t a cop-out, then I’m not sure what else to call it. I guess I have a call to make.” The man turned on his heel and took several steps away from Fury.

 _Fuck_ no.

“You’re not going anywhere, Stark,” Fury growled, halting Stark mid-step. “If you’re bringing in last-minute reinforcements, then I will goddamn know _who_ it is and their social security number before I send them into the fire.”

“99X – 06 – 02XX.”

“Excuse me?” Fury demanded. But Stark’s attention was divided as he was dialing something on his Stark Phone, too preoccupied to grant him the luxury of eye-contact.

“His social security number,” Stark elaborated, and Rogers palmed his face, stress oozing off the man. Fury himself felt a well of exasperated confusion overcome him, but Tony Stark didn’t seem to give a fuck and merely continued with whatever he was doing.

“Right. JARVIS, display video call on conference screen, please. Let’s see what Big and Scary is up to these days.”

“Of course, sir.” A tense moment went by. If Fury hadn’t been at his wit's end already with everything that was going on, then this would surely put him there.

Sound immediately blasted through the speakers that Stark had audaciously _hacked_ as a blurry person was seen steadily retreating from what was no doubt a party. In the middle of the afternoon. In the middle of _everything_ that was going on.

 _Who in the_ Hell _–_ but Fury didn’t get to finish his thought.

A smooth dark voice unceremoniously cut through the noise as well as Fury’s mounting aggravation – inappropriately British and haughty like nothing he’d ever heard before and _they did not have time for this shit._

“Pardon me, coming through. Oh no, I really don’t have time for that right now, I have a phone call to attend to. Yes, yes, terribly important. Now allow me.”

More shuffling was heard, the atmosphere in the room feeling tense with confusion as people intermittently stared at Stark, who looked suddenly both embarrassed and resigned – if not a little regretful of having made the phone call at all.

Finally, a man came into view, as well as what was no doubt the gorgeous view of San Francisco. Dark eyes, expensive maroon tux and a drink in hand. The admittedly handsome stranger took a sip of a crystal glass in his hands and realigned himself so that the phone camera captured his face and upper torso fully. He seemed to be leaning with his back against a railing, his expressive eyes lighting up the _second_ he seemed to spot the billionaire amongst the people visible in the video call. 

“Tony, _darling!_ ” the man crooned excitedly, though a certain touch of hesitancy was well-hidden behind his glee. “What an unexpected surprise! Didn’t think I’d hear from you, well – ever really, since our last encounter. You’ve been quite adamant in ignoring my Snaps, so I didn’t think you were interested,” the very silly man complained childishly, a pout half-way onto his lips.

 _Oh no,_ Fury thought with dread.

“Lu – _cy_ ,” Tony Stark censured himself. The individual’s eyes widened in surprise and laughter, but Stark nonetheless continued. “First of all, _but most definitely not least_ , I’m still in a relationship with Pepper and – “

“Well that doesn’t matter, Tony!” the man, _Lucy_ , exclaimed interruptingly. “I certainly don’t mind another participant. Can’t imagine you having poor taste. I’m sure she’s lovely. How about a Devil’s triangle, hm? I’ve acquired a quaint place here in San Francisco. Breathtaking view – heavenly, really. I would know –“

“That isn’t what this is about!” Stark shouted to the surprise of everyone on deck.

Visibly put out, the other man sighed. “Ah well, another time then. What is the matter, Tony?” A moment went by and the man narrowed his eyes slightly, appearing suspicious. “You’re hesitant,” he observed, perceptive. “Are you perchance interested in proposing another deal?”

The situation was suddenly very uncomfortable, and Fury could feel it right down to his steel-covered toes.

“…I. Yes – No!” Stark contradicted hurriedly, sweat on his brow. “I’m not – but he is,” he corrected brazenly, pointing to Fury who stiffened in preparation.

“Well, well,” the man said with an uninterested drawl. “Don’t you look like a grumpy fetishist with an issue the size of Cambridge. What can I do for you, Mr.…?”

Taking a second to give Stark some serious side-eye, Fury answered the impertinent alien with all the seriousness that was afforded to the situation.

“Director – Fury. Nick Fury. And who exactly are you?” Stark flinched and Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Why, my adventurous one-eyed friend, my name is _Lucifer._ Lucifer Morningstar – pleased to make your acquaintance, such as it is. Terribly inconvenient to do introductions over a tiny screen, or I’d shake your hand.”

“You must be joking.” 

“Not at all, Director Furiously Skeptical. Since Tony here is facilitating this admittedly poor meeting, I would’ve expected you to know as much already, but I suppose our dearest mutual friend has been remiss in the sharing of his intel. Pray tell, Tony,” Lucifer purred, his grin wide and interested. “How have you been?”

“Truthfully? Extremely uncomfortable,” Stark confessed.

Lucifer grimaced, seemingly contrite. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”

“You managed it. Congratulations. Or not, depending on your preferences in regards to that kind of thing.”

“Prancing around and scaring hapless mortals left and right is hardly a worthwhile endeavor, darling, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t enjoying myself last we made a deal.” The smile was back and this time fifteen times more flirtatious.

Stark did _not_ react as expected, however, and instead winced _hard._ “Yeah… wasn’t expecting that. At all. “

This pampered person had _somehow_ managed to scare Tony Stark, Iron Man, former arms dealer and overall pain in the ass, and hearing Stark himself confirm it was _telling._

Lucifer waited as Stark took several deep breaths, studiously ignoring the looks of the people around him, as well as their opinions about the situation, which were plainly written on their faces. Lucifer apparently decided to finally give the billionaire a break and looked to Fury once more, wind rustling his hair as his expression gained some gravity.

“I gather you have a proposition to make me, Director? Judging from dear Tony’s palpable discomfort, of which I gather I’m only partly responsible, what merits a call to myself?”

“I don’t know who you think you are, or who Stark thinks you are, but we have an incoming issue of enormous proportions and need every hand on deck. I’ve been told you have certain… abilities.”

“Well color me intrigued, Director,” Lucifer said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “But you must be aware that my help doesn’t come for free.”

At last, something Fury _understood._

“SHIELD is ready to compensate for your time,” he said brusquely.

“SHIELD…” the man muttered, tasting the word and looking to Tony once again, curiosity overflowing. “Wasn’t the bloke who followed you around in Vegas employed by SHIELD?”

Fury quickly turned around and looked to Stark incredulously – who’d covered his mouth and looked conspicuously in another direction, pretending he wasn’t in deep shit – then looked to Lucifer with renewed wary.

“You,” he accused harshly, teeth bared. “You’re the one who forced Agent Finch into early retirement?!”

He could hardly believe it, but it was the last puzzle in a very frustrating investigation that Tony Stark himself had apparently sabotaged from start to finish and it made entirely too much sense. Fury felt absolutely no satisfaction in seeing it solved as he looked at the smarmy bastard on the screen.

“Well, I have honestly no idea, Director. Omnipotence sadly isn’t hereditary, or I’d surely regale you with the wildest tales from the brothels of Belarus. As it stands, the likelihood of my involvement with the sod’s early retirement is, unfortunately, a statistically valid assumption.”

Fury fought the urge to palm his face, feeling _years_ pile on by the second. “My God, you remind me of Stark,” he groaned audibly. 

“I’d thank you _not_ to bring my Father into this. He’s not even here and I consider it immensely impolite,” Lucifer informed him, evidently insulted, though Fury had no fucking clue what about. Stark muffled a sudden hysterical laugh and Lucifer continued before anyone had the chance to contribute to the madness.

“Tony’s stalker threatened to shoot me, you understand. Or _shot_ me, more like,” Lucifer grumbled as if reminiscing about an _inconvenience._ “I had merely inquired to the requested information, but as soon as I received it, the man became inexplicably discombobulated and shot me in the abdomen like some kind of bipolar gunslinger from one of those mid-20th century cinematic western classics.”

“You _compromised_ him.”

“Hm, well, yes – I suppose I did.” The man paused contemplatively. “I’ve been told it’s bad manners in certain circles, but Tony _insisted_ he needed the information and I’m not in the habit of dishonoring any deal I made. Mortal or not.”

Fury threw another long look at Stark, who looked like he sort of wanted to leave the room.

Stark hesitantly spoke up again, chagrined. “I did not know you would do that. I thought you’d just… hypnotize him a little.”

Lucifer wrinkled in his nose in distaste. “I told you already I’m not a hypnotist. I’m the - “ But he didn’t get to finish, because Stark imploded upon himself before he got the chance.

“Yes! I’m perfectly fucking aware of what you are, Lucifer. But we have a problem resembling a catastrophe from the Old Testament on our hands here and unless you get _off your_ _arse_ and help out – “

“What kind of problem are we talking, exactly? You seem awfully distraught, Tony.” If Fury didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn that Lucifer sounded concerned about the engineer.

Stark looked to Fury expectantly – and Fury simply nodded his acceptance in response, because what else was there to do? Stark sighed and then looked back to the image.

“We have an alien army inbound through a portal in New York City, intent on world domination,” Stark declared shortly with all seriousness, watching as Lucifer gaped unattractively at the screen for a couple of seconds after the surreal proclamation.

He did not take it well.

“And you have the gall to accuse me of lying, you bloody pillock!” the man roared, offended to the bone.

“Lucifer!” Stark placated frantically. “Hold your goddamned horsemen! This is true. An alien God named Loki of Asgard has stolen an artifact called the Tesseract and intends to use the energy it generates to create a portal to invite his army of mass destruction to take over the planet. I told you I’m a superhero. This shit apparently happens and given your situation; you have no room to talk!” Stark insisted angrily, a judging finger pointed at the screen as the other man cringed.

“Well…” the man trailed off, seemingly reluctant. “It’s not that I disbelieve you, exactly – it’s just so farfetched…” He paused, his eyes seeking something beyond the screen.

After a minute of intense thinking on Lucifer the Alien’s part, during which Fury and the superheroes waited patiently of a lack of anything better to do, the man focused on them again.

“Truly?”

Stark nodded and Lucifer looked _annoyed._

“Father has truly abandoned you all, hasn’t he?” With that strange remark, another silence ensued, and Fury would’ve told him to hurry the fuck up if he hadn’t had the feeling this conversation was _important_ somehow.

“Did you mention a portal?” Lucifer suddenly spoke up again, leadingly.

“…Yes,” Stark eventually confirmed, eyebrows furrowed.

The man pressed his lips tightly together and nodded curtly. “Very well,” he decided. “We can hash out the specifications of our deal later,” Lucifer proclaimed, doing a complete one-eighty on his willingness to believe them.

“So, you’ll come?” Stark asked, eyes wide and it almost sounded like he hoped Lucifer would say _no_.

“Yes, I suppose I must. No one else seems to be present to do so and I’ve bled too much for this planet – for any version of it, to simply be invaded by alien forces. Shouldn’t bloody well be possible in the first place, but here we are,” Lucifer complained, turning around so that the façade of the building behind him was visible instead. “Where are you?” he asked followingly.

“You don’t know?” Stark asked with surprise – quite stupidly, and Lucifer obviously agreed.

“I do not come equipped with a satellite tracking system, Tony, so no. I do not know where you are. It won’t take me long to arrive regardless of your position, however.”

“Right,” Stark sighed, rubbing his face. “We’re currently headed to New York. Scheduled arrival… around 15 minutes by jet. Think you can get there by then?”

“Certainly. Anything else I should know?”

“A scientist named Selvig has been put under mind control by Loki. Cognitive recalibration has proven capable of reversing the effect. Also, Loki is capable of wielding magic,” agent Romanov spoke up professionally, to which Lucifer focused on her, affronted.

“Magic? _Really_?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really. His brother Thor would prefer him brought in alive to face justice.” Lucifer mouthed _‘Thor’_ at Tony questioningly and the man rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Lucifer said, “far be it from me to deny justice from being carried out – that’d be dreadfully hypocritical of me.”

“How exactly are you getting there?” Steve asked, skeptical about the whole situation, no doubt, his blue eyes fixed distrustfully at the dark character on the screen.

“Much like yourself, I gather. I’m going to fly.”

“Of fucking _course_ you can fly,” Tony spat with exasperation, hands in the air. “You know what, I don’t even care anymore. Fly to my tower. Big ostentatious structure with my name in neon. Can’t miss it.”

“Very well, darling.” Female hands snuck its way into view and Lucifer directed his gaze at the woman off-camera. “Terribly sorry, Charlene, I’m afraid I have urgent business out of state and have no time to play. Yes, mhm, very unfortunate – off you pop,” he grinned, clearly moving to leave.

The disbelief on the main deck of the Helicarrier was thick and incredulous and Fury was _choking_ on it.

Lucifer looked into the camera again, a wide-as-all-Hell smile on his lips. “I shall meet you there, Tony. I simply cannot _wait_ to see you again.” A flirtatious wink sealed the deal and the closing of the connection.

Momentary silence filled the space – after which Fury’s mouth gave up the fight and spilled all of his frustrations.

“Who the mother-loving _fuck_ was that, Stark?”

“…You heard him. Lucifer Morningstar.” 

“You can’t mean to tell me we’re making a deal with the _Devil_ ,” Fury insisted.

This was _ridiculous._

“Too late to reconsider.”

“You’re an atheist. You can’t be serious.”

“That won’t stop him.”

“No. You can’t be _serious_ ,” Fury stressed again, finally at his wit's end. “What makes you believe he’s actually who he says he is?”

“I could show you a video clip, but I’ve filed it under ‘DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EVER,’ and plan to keep it that way. Actually, no. JARVIS, delete the video pronto.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Cool. Great.” Stark moved past a silent Steve and patted him on the shoulder. “Time to suit up, Stars and Stripes, we’ve got like three different deities with unreliable loyalties intent on demolishing the Big Apple and I’m pretty sure your retirement plan doesn’t cover inexplicable damnation. Let’s go.”

“Just so you’re aware, Stark, I don’t buy into this tripe and hold you personally responsible for whatever this crazy motherfucker decides to do.”

Stark waved a hand over his shoulder. “Sure thing, Director – and when Lucifer comes knocking for _your_ end of the deal, I’ll know where to direct him.”

The heroes went to prepare, Stark apparently deciding to fly in his suit ahead of the rest of the team. When they’d vacated the bridge, Agent Hill looked to Fury forlornly.

“This is a bad idea.”

“I knew it as soon as I heard him speak.”

-6-6-6-

One long-lasting look at the pleasant skyline of San Francisco and then Lucifer was off with vigor he hadn’t felt the likes of for months.

A possibility.

A _chance._

He stopped briefly to bid the host of the party adieu and took the elevator to the rooftop. Only when he was completely alone did he consider what he’d agreed to, his features contracting into a grimace of epic proportions.

Aliens. _Preposterous._ This universe was pure codswallop. Which Earth couldn’t even afford a basic blessing to ward off the extraterrestrial civilizations? They were truly an abandoned people and Lucifer was high-key pissed that it now fell to _him_ to handle this mess. He was not employed by Heaven – this should not be his responsibility!

But he’d been compelled by the opportunity – and so he stomped on his misgivings and directed his tenacity towards more productive endeavors.

 _An army of hostile aliens_ , he pondered. _An explosive cocktail, no doubt_. He did not have his preferred equipment with him – the armors and weapons he could’ve summoned from his hiding places on his Earth or even from Hell itself – and once again he cursed the circumstances. He was not prepared for war.

At least, not on his terms.

With a sigh rooted deeply in how much he did not want to do this, he determined that there was nothing else to it.

Heavenly armor it was.

He recoiled at the thought. It was a part of him, but it hadn’t been summoned since his Fall. He’d refused the uniform of the Archangels for millennia and had intended to keep it that way – but now he couldn’t afford to be choosy. His chances of effectively navigating a _war_ with unknown assailants were much better served by being well-prepared.

Not stopping to think any further on it, Lucifer made a decision and called forth the garments and sparse armor of the angelic host. He stared briefly at the symbols on his newly applied silver vambraces with a wistful look for just a moment – and then looked away, determined to ignore the ever-growing list of principles he was abandoning.

Half a silver-like metal and half the grey wool-like cloth of their angelic robes – both blessed to imperviousness.

Unfolding his wings, he took to the sky like a bullet, stopping only when he neared the edge of the atmosphere. Granting a short, longing glance to his stars, he then oriented himself and sought out the direction of a city he didn’t care for at all.

The only thing he could think, as he descended from the Heavens, was that Amenadiel surely would’ve enjoyed the chance to participate in such a battle far more than he ever would.

-6-6-6-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pants at drawing both hands and feet, but here's my first little drawing/sketch of Lucifer's armor as I imagine it. If you want to take a shot at a better design, PLEASE do not hold back. I'd love to see your ideas!
> 
> Next up - the Battle of New York.


	8. The Battle of New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaa~
> 
> Okay, so I've REALLY tried my best with writing this war, but I'm admittedly still learning how to write action, so if anything in the flow looks funky, let me know. 
> 
> Funny fact - the plural form of 'aircraft' is 'aircraft,' so if you're like me and didn't know this, then you do now. Properly warned about that. 
> 
> THANK YOU a thousand times for all the many _many_ comments I've received on the last chapter. I've been overwhelmed by the support and can hardly believe it. I hope you're all doing alright out there and find the time to enjoy yourselves regardless. 
> 
> Happy weekend <3

The sun was shining upon a city wrapped up in smoke, uncaring of the circumstances, and shedding an unforgiving light on devastation no one in the world had foreseen arriving that morning.

Untroubled by the chaos emanating from every conceivable direction, arrows careened smoothly towards an endless swarm of invaders – the accuracy of their flight rendering dodging near-impossible for the hideous targets filling up the sky. Considering the speed of the attack ratio that Clint was currently upholding, he was sure he would run out of ammunition too soon for comfort.

He strung another arrow and let it go. An explosion sounded in the far distance, though he had already turned his focus elsewhere.

Everywhere his eyes could see.

His quiver was high-tech as anything, but disappointingly not bottomless in the slightest – so he was determined to shoot his arrows as efficiently as humanely possible and made sure every hit struck true. Destructively, as well as protectively.

His fingers stung through the effort of coordinating the debris he was creating, the fleeing masses far below him erratic in their attempts to seek safety. The aliens were actively chasing people, and Clint was watching them like a hawk, unwilling to abandon them to their death.

He couldn’t tell you how many ugly sons of bitches he’d sent into the pavement by then, but he guessed the collective amount could probably sustain SHIELD’s research department for decades to come.

And yet they were still coming. For every exhalation and every arrow – another enemy emerged.

 _The Captain is just as persistent_ , Clint reminded himself, taking aim once more. But persistence wouldn’t win them this war. It would only prolong it.

The com system in his ear was constantly blaring with intermittent updates from the others, informing him of their positions or updating everyone on the general situation. Even Fury occasionally chimed in to comment on urgent dangers, but otherwise let them handle the situation on the ground.

Clint knew he might’ve been slightly more frustrated in his movements than what was ideal, but he had something to prove and a Norse god with an infuriatingly condescending smirk to impale upon the tip of his arrow.

Nothing, absolutely nothing – not even Nat’s rough fingertips on his shoulder or his wife’s supportive smile over Facetime – would deter him.

Somebody was biting the dust that day and he would be _fucked_ if it was him. _No way._

Standing at the edge of the building he was currently using as his platform, he listened idly to Captain America’s ongoing stream of commands and Iron Man’s never-ending commentary as he continued his onslaught from above, feeling hyper-focused, humiliated and enraged all at once.

Leaning into a complicated angle to spare the Hulk from an alien blast to the neck, he suddenly got distracted by something large, white, and _extremely_ _sudden_ in his peripheral.

Startled, he subsequently failed to properly dodge an energy attack coming from his left, his frantic evasive maneuver causing him to miss-step off the side of the building with a sharp yell to accompany his shock.

 _Shit_ , he cursed mentally.

He twisted himself mid-air and immediately started preparing to launch an arrow equipped with a grappling hook to save himself – but before he had the chance, another alien aircraft swooped towards him and Clint gritted his teeth in frustration as he was forced to use his arrow to shoot down the vessel.

But he was still barreling towards the street, and how was that any better?

Nearing critical height, Clint steadily began to panic when suddenly something grabbed roughly onto his arms and heaved him upwards in a powerful _lurch._

A great big _flap_ and he was promptly dropped onto the rooftop he’d just fallen off, his breathing fast and frenzied as he looked wide-eyed around him.

 _The fuck was that?_ was his only thought, as he listened to his teammates yelling into the com, asking him if he was okay or if he needed assistance.

“Hawkeye! Status! Are you alright?”

“I – yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m… back in position.”

“What happened?”

“I was forced off the building. Something caught me – “

“ _Something?”_ a voice interrupted him, tone offended and agitated in equal measure. “I do believe I’m feeling properly insulted. I’ll remember not to catch your sorry behind next time you go Humpty Dumpty off a tall building.”

Clint whirled around and spotted the tall, dark-haired maybe-alien he’d been very speedily briefed about on the way here.

 _Lucifer,_ he remembered with uncertainty. _How did he get up here?_

He hadn’t been present on the deck when they’d called him, but he’d since seen pictures of the man and had assumed the freaky mind-controller wouldn’t get there in time to make any kind of difference. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but some sort of tunic-armor ensemble, which couldn’t possibly offer as much protection as was clearly needed – the majority of his arms, legs, bottom, and head sans armor and lacking significant protection.

“…Morningstar?” he asked, absentmindedly shooting an arrow into an aircraft as he attempted to reign in his breath.

_Calm the fuck down, Clint. It’s only the end of the world._

“Hm, yes,” Lucifer responded distractedly, his eyes darting this way and that, looking more than slightly distraught as he took in his surroundings. The aliens were still pouring out of the wormhole like a leaky faucet and Lucifer was gaping at it like he couldn’t believe why they hadn’t plugged it yet.

“What in the bloody Hell is going on?!” the being raged in a panic, arms swept out as if to encompass the entirety of everything he didn’t agree with. Clint did not have time to calm this nutter down.

“Listen, pal, you need –“

“WHAT are these _THINGS_?! Why the Devil are they _here?!”_ he ignored Clint completely, undeterred and angry in his confusion.

The distinct sound of an alien aircraft fast approaching had both their heads turn in unison, and Clint moved instinctively in front of Lucifer to protect him, shooting it down in one single move.

The relief was short-lived, however, as another aircraft was revealed to be directly behind it, intend on their death and leaving Clint absolutely no time to mount a defense.

Muttering a panicky _‘fuck,_ ’ Clint tucked on Lucifer’s arm harshly. “DOWN!” he yelled as he ducked, but the man didn’t budge even a millimeter. 

Instead, a nearly incoherent curse escaped the badly-armored Lucifer as he stood his ground stubbornly like an idiot. Nary a second later, an energy blast was fired and _hit the_ _guy directly in the groin_.

Clint was so baffled by the lack of logic that he could hardly handle it. He was already imagining the extent of the damage he had to expect when Lucifer made a sound like someone had punched him in the gut _and remained standing,_ his wooly tunic somehow still intact.

Not believing what he was seeing, Clint looked up at Lucifer and noticed that his eyes were _red_ with a scorching wrath.

“Guys –“ Clint started into the channel, but the aircraft were closing in on them again, about to run them over.

A moment before impact, the archer stared completely confounded as Lucifer squared his feet and stared down the aircraft with intense obstinacy as it approached – and then _grabbed_ onto its front as it collided with him, foreign metal groaning against useless engines and Lucifer’s startling strength.

This had decidedly _not_ been a part of the briefing. 

The aircraft stopped in its tracks, and Clint couldn’t tell you who was more surprised. Clint, or the alien warrior insect on the ugly-ass space scooter.

A short-lived smirk graced the red-eyed man’s face for just a moment – before he was predictably blasted directly in the mug by the warrior’s laser rifle.

Face now scorched and sooty, Lucifer looked four times more furious – if that was even possible – and summarily _flung the whole fucking thing_ into the adjacent wall, fire trailing after it in an angry glory of sparks.

“Holy FUCK – !“ Clint exclaimed as he scrambled further back – the aircraft now burning in a heap of ruined bricks. Lucifer looked about ready to explode himself and Clint did not want to be on a rooftop with him when it happened.

Clint did not have a choice.

“These things are everywhere!” Lucifer fumed irrationally, spinning around himself to get a scope of the disaster. He didn’t know what to tell him. He didn’t know what to _do_ , besides continuously shooting down whatever aircraft was stupid enough to approach this particular building.

“Morningstar –!“ he tried again, breath coming in huffs as he mentally processed the person glaring quite literally with fire in his eyes at everything around him. Lucifer looked like he was one wrong word away from having a tantrum, and Clint couldn’t imagine what that entailed.

Explosions rained around them and interrupted his scattered thoughts.

Noting another alien attempting to dive-bomb them, Lucifer seemed to pinpoint it in seconds, red eyes narrowing with hard resolve at the sight of it. Clint observed as the remnants of panic gradually transformed into determination, Lucifer’s body tensing up as if preparing for a particularly challenging decision. 

Strangely, the man then moved his right hand far to the side and positioned it closer to his ear as if about to throw an invisible football. The movement looked practiced, yet odd – resembling in a way how an old Olympic champion might demonstrate their prowess several years into their retirement.

His right leg followed the movement, and –

 _A_ _lance of fire_ erupted into the palm of his hand, glowing-hot and dripping embers and Clint was shocked to feel the heat even several meters away.

Lucifer took a masterful step forward and heaved the lance towards the vessel with clenched teeth and an angry grunt… and cut through it with the impact of a tiny meteor – the splash effect of the resulting explosion catching the surrounding aircraft and bringing them along for the ride. The fire had come from nowhere visible and Lucifer seemed capable of producing it like a human flamethrower, now flinging long projectiles of destruction like darts at balloons – missing rarely and burning their enemies from the sky.

The following lance though nearly nicked Clint in the elbow.

“Hey – watch it!” he called out – but was ignored. Lucifer was clearly in the zone for flaming alien shish-kebabs and Clint’s opinion went frustratingly unheard.

“I cannot BELIEVE this! Father _damn it,_ bloody aliens are actually invading!” The guy sounded extraordinarily exasperated to be dealing with this, and Clint would’ve emphasized something fierce if he hadn’t been so _indignant._

“Stark – I think your guy is here and he’s pissed,” he announced to the com, taking aim at an alien swooping in from the right.

“My gu – _fuck_ , Lucifer is here?! Give him an earpiece!” Clint grimaced.

“Hey!” he yelled at the pyromaniac on the roof with him. “Stark wants to speak with you!” he said through the noise in his head that persistently discouraged him from making any contact with the guy at all. _Mission first, existential crisis number two of the day later,_ he thought. He did not have time for this. _Nobody_ had any time for this.

The man with the red eyes, soot on the cheeks and flames trickling from his fingertips focused on him and for a moment, Clint was afraid he’d be the next recipient of a firestorm to the face. The man seemed to center himself in seconds, however and held out a hand impatiently.

Taking the hint, he threw an extra earpiece at the guy – because he was not getting closer, no way – and Lucifer caught it. He stared at it for a second, then put it in his ear and joined their frequency.

“Well, this looks like the sodding apocalypse around here,” he remarked rather scathingly. “When you said you needed my services, I expected a fierce battle on the ground or perhaps even warcraft consultancy – I even dressed the part, for Heaven’s sake! – _not_ being drafted into a father-be-damned _aerial_ _war effort_ with _zero_ preparation! What in the bloody Hell _is_ all this?!” He threw another condensed lance of fire at a large aircraft, just to see the Hulk bound around the corner, smashing aliens helpfully as he went.

“And is that a bloody great troll sauntering through the air?!”

“Lucifer, hello, yes – alien invasion. Told you so. Also, that great big troll is our Hulk and he’s – well, to be honest, he has his own show running, but he seems to be doing alright. Just stay clear,” Stark informed.

“I’m not going anywhere near that thing,” Lucifer hissed, evident sounds of panic interrupting their conversation. Lucifer’s eyes widened, petrified at the sight before them.

“ _What in the_ – NO! – Those people will be crushed!” he near-screeched.

Quickly spotting the situation in question, Clint felt ice in his stomach. “Team, we’re not in a good position. A large worm-ship is headed towards a mall filled with evacuated civilians. I can’t – !”

A sudden great _whoosh_ and then he was almost thrown off the building _again_ as air is displaced due to a great fucking pair of _wings_ unfurling out of nowhere.

“HOLY SHIT – !” he screamed.

Lucifer flapped once and jumped off the side of the building, burning eyes intent on the giant worm as it flew aggressively along its path of destruction.

He flew fast, Clint noted in astonishment, as Lucifer economically dodged light posts, falling debris and aliens alike as he sought out the creature’s trajectory. Clint couldn’t take his eyes off the image of the angel-like figure passing the behemoth – in fact, almost losing an ear due to his distraction.

Lucifer reared up with his entire wingspan and when the monster finally reached him, he met it halfway to the mall, bare hands and wings pushing explosively against its enormous snout and diverting it into a cluster of cars instead. The crash was thundering.

The worm’s sharp teeth snapped after him and Lucifer punched it into a Prius for the trouble. 

“You abhorrent, _disgusting_ beast – stay where you are! What the Hell are you even _made_ from? Flesh, metal, a sick sense of humor? I cannot understand a word you are saying – are you’re sentient at all?!” Lucifer demanded wildly, only to receive a dangerous growl in return from the downed beast in question.

Lucifer seemed to sneer at it. “Whatever you are, you will not harm these humans – I will not stand for it!” Lucifer proclaimed heatedly through the coms.

Clint wasn’t the only one staring now, formerly fleeing New Yorkers and tourists now gawking at the winged man in their midst who’d just bitch-slapped an alien tank into submission and was now yelling angrily at it.

The beast was far from dead, though, and soon resumed snapping after him, purposefully worming its way toward the people who shrieked in protest.

From one moment to the next – and Clint could’ve _sworn_ he’d hardly blinked – the beast suddenly sported a giant gash from head to mid-body, Lucifer now standing perched on top of the carnage. His apparently extremely sharp and deadly wings poised on his back and dripping alien blood off the primaries. 

He still looked mightily pissed even when he took off again, his glowing white wings slicing through aliens left, right, above and below him as he went, destination unknown.

“Oh my God…” Clint muttered to himself, inattentively shooting down another aircraft coming too close.

“Is that… “ the Captain erupted urgently, clearly fighting in the background.

“Stark, who the fuck did you call?!”

There was no answer.

-6-6-6-

Lucifer hadn’t participated in a battle for… a long time.

There’d been the random uprising in Hell, of course, and some of his siblings had on occasion exhibited the boring tendency to interfere in his business due to one reason or another, resulting in minor altercations – but _this?_ This was very clearly a full-on _invasion_ and Lucifer had never seen the like since well before his Fall.

Even worse, flying through a war zone equipped with his angelic armor was horribly nostalgic – with extreme emphasis on the _horrible_ – and it grated on him that he’d regressed so far as to endure its presence on his body at all. It seemed inevitable, especially now, but Lucifer couldn’t shake the notion that the whole situation was somehow a ploy to get him to accept his old colors.

As if all the misery he’d been through to change had been for _naught._

Twisting through the air, he flew in between a pair of those hideous aircraft and spread his wings with a sudden violence, abruptly cutting into their machines and causing a blistering eruption. The heat mirrored the flare of anger in his chest and he held onto it with a tight grip, feeling it rush to his hands in a way they hadn’t done since forever.

Explosions rained around him as he continued his attacks, his heart beating to the sound of screaming mortals as he passed them. His wings caught the fire of his next target and he brought it along with him in a swath of destruction, setting the nasty extraterrestrial buggers running amok on the ground aflame before they breached the buildings.

Readying a compressed lance of flames, he clenched his fist and barreled towards another of those illogically floating leviathans, his lance spearing the beast upon impact and ceasing its progression. But while the blow was decidedly deadly, a group of foot soldiers disengaged from the side and recommenced the attack anew.

Lucifer’s face was already hurting from the sheer size of his scowl.

“Cockroaches, the lot of you,” he growled, infuriated by the whole concept. He could feel his eyes burning, tinging his vision crimson while he dispatched of the creatures – slicing, burning, punching, and kicking them into the pavement.

There seemed to be no end to them and looking up towards the ever-spewing fountain of critters, he gritted his teeth at the hopelessness. Humans were dying in droves and Lucifer felt helpless to aid them all. 

_Please, Father, let this not be the state of things on my Earth,_ he pleaded, feeling the heat of his powers surge hotter than they had in millennia.

Steadfastly determined to continue – _and completely unable to stop himself_ – he resumed using his wings as makeshift shields, intercepting the blasts intended for nearby mortals whenever he could. Receiving several blasts in a row definitely stung like a bitch on his wings, but Lucifer wasn’t slowed down in the slightest.

They couldn’t hurt him. Their space guns were as ineffectual as they were ugly.

Another group of alien foot soldiers several avenues further down were murdering their way through a line of cars and Lucifer swooped down unflinchingly, cutting through their weapons and bodies both, rendering them immobile as a result.

It wasn’t difficult, he found. He couldn’t feel any souls from the creatures, which made their presence vaguely resemble that of demons – and therefore _very_ killable.

And _extremely_ therapeutic to obliterate.

The knowledge served to soothe his mind and his motivation reasserted itself like a missing piece in his armor. Dispatching of the creatures speedily, he danced between their brutish attempts at overpowering him with numbers, flying off again thereafter, and ignoring the tiny voice that relished openly in his rediscovered freedom of movement.

The flight, the armor, the power, the victory.

 _This is not me,_ he remembered.

The humans were terrified.

Grabbing at a nearby source of fire, he redirected the flames to the dozen aliens about to break down the glass doors to a store filled with trembling humans and stopped them in their tracks. He didn’t wait to watch them burn – instead, he was captivated by the sight of a great chunk of building precariously tilting forward towards the street.

Screams sounded from the people below, who were running between and stuck in their cars due to the fires and aerial attacks pouring down from above.

Not offering a single thought to his own visibility, he increased his speed and headed towards the chunk. The moment it started falling, he grabbed onto the edges of the steel beams sticking out of the cement and hauled it away from its intended path with supernatural exertion. Having caught sight of a band of aircraft underway, he scowled painfully and gathered momentum with his wings, twisting midair to fling the piece of building into their path.

The aliens were hit and exploded upon impact, dropping to the ground and destroying an empty bus in the aftermath.

He didn’t offer the terrified mortals his attention and instead continued on – pausing suddenly in the air as he nearly passed what appeared to be the American flag on legs fighting for his life.

The red and blue man looked vaguely overrun, so he made a rash decision and swept in, slashing his wings into a couple of the apparent _hero’s_ assailants and rendered them in halves.

Flicking his wings to rid them of the alien fluids and swiping off a piece of sediment from the edge of his tunic, Lucifer looked to the smarmy fella in the tacky get-up expectantly. “G’day, Mr. Patriot,” he greeted with ill-hidden anger. “Might you tell me what the bloody Hell is being done to fix this mess?”

The guy was gaping at him, so Lucifer snapped his fingers in his face, disgruntled by the display during such a stressful time. “We do _not_ have time for a personal crisis and my therapist is unavailable – get out of your funk and tell me what is going on!” he yelled at the guy with a giant A on the forehead, who he belatedly realized must’ve been the large blonde man in the video call.

An alien snuck up on them and Mr. America luckily recalibrated instantly, dispatching of the creature in short order. Breathing hard and with pupils blown wide, the guy looked back at Lucifer.

“Ah – yes,” he coughed uncomfortably through his harsh breathing, his gaze fixed in combat between Lucifer’s wings and eyes. “The… portal. We need to close the portal. If we don’t, they’ll just keep coming.”

“Yes, I seemed to spot an abnormally efficient searchlight emitting from that ghastly tower. It is responsible for this infestation then?”

More enemies arrived and they both automatically moved to intercept them before they neared the mortals inside the buildings, the hero’s metallic shield thrusting this way and that in an attempt to quell the stream of attacks. Lucifer had to admit he was more than slightly impressed by the strength this mortal boasted.

Mr. America nodded hurriedly. “Affirmative. We need to – watch out!“ he yelled suddenly and Lucifer turned around.

Evidently the one in command, someone wielding a glowing scepter and a ridiculously adorned helmet flew speedily past them astride an alien aircraft. Malicious intent was written clearly in every movement he performed, and without warning, the man took a swing at them at first opportunity.

Lucifer was absolutely definitive it was magic of some sort – though he couldn’t tell you _which kind_ – and they both dodged the attempt and the resulting explosion before they were hit. Now more than just angry, the Devil didn’t wait to receive permission to pursue him.

The dark-haired man in the shiny green and golden armor seemed startled to be followed for just a moment before he turned around in his vessel and faced Lucifer directly. His mad blue eyes shined menacingly back at furious red, and Lucifer had but one conclusion.

_There’s my sinner._

-6-6-6-

The villain lifted his scepter again and Lucifer glared hard at the gesture – knowing he couldn’t dodge on such a short distance.

A sharp, knowing smirk of impending victory graced his adversary’s thin lips right before he fired his volley of magical energy – and propelled Lucifer straight into a sign, sparks flying around him as the digital screen sputtered with errors. Shaking his head momentarily and dislodging his elbow from the grid, Lucifer wrinkled his nose crossly and resumed his chase.

The slender man had in the meantime the absolute _gall_ to assume he was out for the count and had actually turned his attention _elsewhere._

More than mildly offended by this, Lucifer flexed his fingers and threw a lance of Lightbringer flame at the medieval-looking fucker. Though he had no intention to kill this man, he succeeded well enough at catching his attention, subsequently diverting it from the mortals he was threatening. His opponent’s vehicle expectedly exploded, and the man landed on his knees gracefully on the street, shapely brows furrowed in displeasure at the disruption.

Lucifer rotated a shoulder and walked towards him, similarly unharmed, but nonetheless pissed and uncaring of the inconvenience he represented.

The man appeared mildly puzzled by the display but quickly continued attempting to half-heartedly blast his wings off. Apparently deciding on a random spot of creativity, the apparent _wizard_ alternated between his scepter and his hands, the green and blue streaks of magic taking turns irritating him with different levels of intensity.

Markedly more prepared for the assault this time, Lucifer moved his wings around to try and avoid the magical mess but hissed nonetheless when his joint was hit despite his efforts.

“Would you stop that –! I’ve only recently discovered what being stung by a wasp feels like and I’m not interested in repeating the sensation!”

The man frowned curiously – then experimentally shot at his wings again. Not tolerating that kind of meaningless battering for long, Lucifer finally folded his wings in and away from the physical plane of existence and rose an eyebrow. Cheekily, Lucifer spread his arms as if to say, ‘what now?’.

Mouth open with clear befuddlement, the man halted his attacks and stared at him unashamedly. Spatial equations might as well have been dancing across his eyes because the beardless Viking looked _captivated._

Uninterested in whatever this guy was attempting to decipher, Lucifer took several steps forward. Still staring thoughtfully at where Lucifer’s wings were present just moments before, his opponent failed to take him seriously and was therefore unprepared for Lucifer’s physical vexation.

Lucifer threw a punch – and _finally,_ the man seemed to recalibrate and very swiftly rose a hand to intercept it with the audacious arrogance of an angel. He widened his eyes, however, when the back of his hand was _thrust_ into his breastplate with tremendous force.

The man, or alien, judging from his superhuman reflexes, let out a wheeze and tumbled backward onto the pavement – only to disintegrate into a greenish light-show thereafter. 

“Not a Midgardian, then,” came a British voice from the right, and Lucifer turned towards it. “Neither are you Vanir.”

“Nor am I an aardvark, but I don’t suppose we’re here to state the obvious,” Lucifer returned with ire, taking steps towards the illusionist again, only for his next punch to meet thin air.

Lucifer frowned deeply. He’d never liked combat with tricksters.

Spinning around, he found the slippery fellow on a vantage point on top of a Tesla. The man looked miffed, if not particularly stressed. Shooting another energy shot at him for good measure, he seemed to test the waters.

Lucifer threw a corresponding lance at him, and the wizard skillfully managed to redirect it with his scepter, obviously disgruntled for whatever reason. Lucifer was about reaching his limit for needless laser fights himself.

“Shoot me again, and it won’t matter how many illusions you cast – I will shove that scepter so far up your arse you’ll gain another nostril,” Lucifer threatened the alien, who quite frankly looked enraged by the promise.

“Mind your words,” he spoke warningly, posing on top of his electrical car of choice. “I am Loki of Asgard. Your presence is unexpected, but it matters not. I will have you taste defeat before long as you bow before your betters.”

“You will most certainly not – and especially not with that attitude.”

“Insolent braggart,” Loki insulted. “Have you not a single care for your own welfare? You stand in the presence of divinity.”

“Well, about time!” Lucifer returned loudly, fed up with literally everything. “Would you mind pointing me in the general direction, because I’ve been bloody well trying to get in contact with them for months now!”

Obviously frustrated, Loki frowned at him. “You do not know what you speak of, winged warrior.”

“And you don’t know who you’re speaking _to_ ,” Lucifer informed. “Like I don’t know _where_ I am, or _why_ I’m engaging in immortal combat with a deranged, magical space-Viking. This is way out of my jurisdiction.”

“We are on Midgard,” Loki the Lunatic apparently felt he had to mention.

“Well, then fucking point me to upper-gard of down-gard because this place isn't doing it for me.”

“Fool.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Wanker,” he countered Britishly.

“Maggot,” Loki spat in return.

“Arsemonger.”

“Gormless git.”

“Bastard.”

The Viking opened his mouth with evident purpose for just a moment – then shut it again with visual aggravation and gritted teeth.

Hit a nerve, did he? _Good._

“Could you curb the English mud-slinging for one goddamn second?! Some of us are trying to fight a war!” Tony yelled into the com, blaster shots ringing in the background. Lucifer held a finger to the earpiece.

“What the _Hell_ do you think I’m doing? Arranging a tea party? This golden-horned nincompoop is off his rockers and completely intolerable to converse with!” he yelled back, waving a hand in Loki’s general direction.

“Intolerable?!” Loki fumed, plainly affronted.

“You heard what I said,” Lucifer growled.

“I will have your tongue!”

“You have not _earned_ my tongue.”

“Fool!”

“Not this again!” Agent Barton groaned into his ear.

Loki looked proper mad to be standing there – in more ways than one – and suddenly took a giant leap directly onto a bypassing aircraft. Turning swiftly, Lucifer spread his wings anew and took off from the crazed alien. Exhilarated for no good reason, Lucifer upped his speed considerably and navigated the tight corners of inner NYC like a feathered fighter jet on a mission, taking the chance to lead the tosser to a less populated area as he chased him with relentless zeal.

He returned his attention to the com. “I’ve got no clue who’s on this channel, but for whoever is curious, I’m currently being chased by a cranky antelope on a flying scooter, wielding a magical glowstick. What is the protocol for this?”

Slight static greeted him before he was answered. “Yeah – we’ve got no fucking protocol for Norse gods chasing errant _angels_ through midtown. What the fucking Hell even _is_ this?” Tony complained.

“Hell is the right idea,” he remarked absentmindedly as he concentrated on his flight. He dodged another blue streak as he rounded a corner and flew directly towards another levitating behemoth, the great troll hanging off its side determinately.

He was a moment too late when he noticed the absence of the supposed Norse ‘god.’

Loki had evidently fucked off and Lucifer let out a curse.

“Bloody Hell,” he hissed as he went on, attempting to ignore the troll bounding from building to building and headed for the tower of ultimate light pollution.

Another few minutes of fighting a useless battle brought an update.

“Guys,” the struggling voice of a woman spoke up, “I can do it. I can close the portal.”

“Do it!” He recognized the voice of the American flag.

“No, don’t!” Tony denied frantically half a second later.

“Stark, these things are still coming!” the flag insisted.

“I’ve got a nuke coming in and it’s gonna blow in less than a minute,” Tony claimed, and Lucifer paused in his attempt to rip the door off a car to listen because he’d surely heard wrong. _No way_ had the humans decided to nuke themselves to oblivion.

“– and I know just where to put it,” Tony finished, solemn and smart-mouthed both as he declared his intention.

“Stark – you know that’s a one-way trip,” Mr. America stated.

And Lucifer could see it. The rapid streak across the sky inching towards the wormhole, far deadlier than the invasion, and headed for a place neither Heaven nor Hell.

His wings brought him higher without his control, the sight compelling him as he tracked the armored individual zooming across the sky, a weapon of mass destruction balanced precariously on his back.

It felt humbling.

It also felt utterly _terrible._

“Certainly not…” he breathed, eyes wide as Tony – the terrified mortal that had forfeited his fear to gain his help – made a sacrifice so large Lucifer could scarcely comprehend it.

The metal man directed the missile towards the hole and Lucifer flew fiercely after him. 

-6-6-6-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another, BETTER, attempt at the armor. Still not completely satisfied, but I think it looks plenty cool. 
> 
> I hope my first attempt at action, nearly ever, was alright - I've really tried my best. :) The next chapter shouldn't take too long, though I might still make some adjustments to this one. Thanks for reading!


	9. Friendly Until Proven Otherwise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. 
> 
> Sincerely. 
> 
> I guess I have nothing else to say. I'm posting this at 2 am on a Sunday night, and I have work in the morning. Consider that my punishment, if you will.
> 
> The chapter might still need some adjustments, but otherwise - well, here you go! :D

The vacuum swallowed up everything. 

An earsplitting screeching that’d been so overpowering closer to the wormhole disappeared the instant he passed through the opening, taking them millions of lightyears away from their home and even farther away from safety. He’d nearly forgotten how desolate the wider expanse of space truly was – how dry and uninteresting it was to him – hidden away as he’d been on Hell and Earth for so long. 

But this wasn’t the emptiness he much preferred when he thought of the cosmos, though. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t empty at all.

And Lucifer knew then with certainty, looking at the nightmarish vision before him… that this portal would _not_ take him where he needed to go.

This was not his salvation. This would not bring him _home._

_And so,_ he thought, seizing his breath. _I am to be tormented some more?_

Yet again, the void greeted him – and like the ineptitude of the portal, his efforts were ever futile. The disappointment persisted agonizingly heavy in his chest.

Stubborn – perhaps even pointlessly so – Lucifer ignored the suffocation pressing in from all sides and forced his way to the eerily floating Tony – feeling instantly a foreboding chill as he spied the cylindrical shape of a nuclear missile approaching the presence ahead of them. 

An ominous armada, he realized. 

Still, the space was silent.

Time was scarce and Tony’s body was concerningly still – and Lucifer idly concluded that fate was determined to be against him – in seemingly any which way it could manage it.

He had to get them away from there.

Their adversaries were fast approaching their death and Lucifer had no desire to witness the event, however much he’d likely appreciate the sight. His distinctly vulnerable companion likely wouldn’t.

Taking hold of Tony’s limp, metallic arms, he pulled the man backward, his wings finally finding purchase in the dark matter surrounding them. 

Unseen, the missile met its destination – and so did they – a _catastrophic,_ albeit mute, explosion seeing them off as they fell through the useless portal once more, the gravity so immediate that Lucifer stumbled briefly in the air to hold onto his passenger. 

“ _Oh, dear_ ,” he struggled to say, before finally feeling secure in his grip.

– Would be an awful waste of everybody’s time if he dropped the hero of the day onto the pavement, wouldn’t it? 

“They’re out!” the American flag announced into the com, sounding as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath through his surprise. “Romanov, shut it!” Relief shone through. Whether from the end of a war or Tony and Lucifer’s safe return, he couldn’t tell. 

Nevertheless, the concern was ineffectually _touching._

The portal promptly closed and the distant whirr that’d been so steadily creeping closer cut off with a soundless snap. Instantaneously, the remnants of alien pests started falling from the sky as if severed from invisible strings, whatever having had control of them losing its connection to their army. 

Maintaining a tight hold on Tony, Lucifer slowly descended, careful not to jostle him too badly lest he caused some malfunction to the hero’s unnecessarily complicated armor.

Say what you would about the armor of the Archangels, but at least they weren’t cumbersome in the slightest. 

Shortly after reaching the ground, two blond warriors – one of which was clearly the hero of patriotism he’d encountered earlier without his silly helmet – approached him, the giant troll landing also and looking no less fearsome walking towards him than he had smashing alien skulls into the buildings. 

Lucifer tucked his wings away after landing and carefully deposited Tony onto the ground but noted nonetheless that the – humans? _Not that one_ – watched him warily. 

“Is he alive?” the American flag asked, willfully prioritizing by the looks of it. 

The non-man with the giant hammer and suspiciously Norse-looking armor wasted no time and quickly ripped off the mask covering Tony’s face and no – Tony wasn’t breathing. Lucifer felt displeasure rise in him. 

Sending a swift, exasperated glance heavenwards, Lucifer stood back and let the _heroes_ handle the situation. He had to admit to feeling uncomfortable. Tony had, after all, saved enough people to get sainted fifteen times over and was now lying unconscious, wrapped in fancy tinfoil, and prone to death for the sake of a good deed. 

It wasn’t fair, Lucifer knew. Even when his Father relinquished direct control, his influence was still felt keenly, and his son despised him for it. 

And then the troll abruptly stepped forth and with his giant maw roared straight into the poor chap’s face – quite literally _scaring Tony_ _back to life_ , the shocked, wide-eyed hero drawing in a startled breath of survival.

Notably baffled, Lucifer granted the green behemoth a reluctantly impressed stare as Tony looked frantically around him, strapped in his armor as he was.

“What the Hell…” Tony wheezed, and the flag exhaled heavily.

“What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Tony pleaded half-heartedly a second later and the general feeling permeating the air lifted slightly in response, relief overtaking them.

The blond beefcake in red and blue looked beseechingly at the sky. “We won,” he stated helpfully as if the flag couldn’t quite believe what had just transpired. 

Lucifer could relate. “Jolly good,” he commented, crossing his arms. His face was full of soot and he was sure his hair was entirely too curly. “I will never be doing that again,” Lucifer ascertained out loud, more to himself than to his companions, who seemed to have been reminded of his presence the moment he spoke up. 

“Whom are you, winged man? From which realm do you hail?” the caped tool-enthusiast enquired with a serious expression despite his peculiar vernacular.

“Lucifer Morningstar. A pleasure – I think. And I ‘hail’, as you so eloquently put it, from Hell,” he replied honestly, slightly amused and uncertain if the present situation was ideal for chit-chatting. The emerald and sparkly menace was still somewhere, after all. 

The man frowned as the Star-Spangled Banner helped Tony with his suit. 

“Helheim?”

Throwing his hands into the air, an exasperated huff escaped Lucifer. “Well of course not. You’re the third person to ask me this. Is every single person in this wonky universe all collectively incompetent?” he questioned, genuinely concerned now that this was the case. 

A frustrated frown graced the bearded wonder, but the other blond interrupted before further irrational questioning occurred. “We need to get to the tower and apprehend Loki,” he announced gravely, posing heroically in the direction of said construction. 

Perking up, Lucifer smiled widely. “An arrest! Yes, this part I’m familiar with. To the tower then,” he decided.

He spreads his wings and took off immediately to surprised exclamations behind him.

-6-6-6-

Lucifer was _not there_ when they arrived. 

Loki was embedded in the floor, however. 

Tony wasn’t sure what to _think_ and tried to ignore the slight anxiety he felt, along with the aches and bruises he’d studiously collected during the past twenty-four hours. 

He wasn’t superhuman, sadly enough. He was just a guy with a heart made of infinite energy and unexplainable anti-brainwashing capabilities _that definitely will be tested_ , and somehow amiably acquainted with the Devil while equipped with the most advanced anti-terrorism hardware on the planet. 

So completely normal and he should therefore not have had to dig small pieces of metal out of his palms because of alien invasions on his private property. _Nope._

The Norse god of chaos whined lowly from inside his marble floor, and Tony was tempted to ask him how comfortable he had it in there, and how it compared to being thrown out of a penthouse window. 

The absolute _dick._

Without a word, they all moved to surround the errant god, glaring down at him with all the combined energy of their fury – the big brother especially driving daggers of Aesir steel straight into his younger, adopted brother’s less than enthusiastic self. 

“If it’s all the same to you – I’ll take that drink now,” Loki joked weakly, a faint smirk on his lips. 

“Drinks? Are we having a party?” Lucifer’s voice suddenly cut through the tension, every eye turning towards Tony’s landing pad as the Devil made himself known. 

Distinctly wingless, Lucifer sashayed towards them, ignoring their speechlessness.

“I won’t say no to that,” he continued shamelessly. “I love me some pomegranate Martini – Oprah and Madonna had the right idea, make no mistake. The taste is positively _divine_.” 

Barton choked on his spit. 

Resting his hands on his hips, Lucifer stared down at Loki, eyes steely despite his smile. 

“Well, well,” he drawled, drawing out the words. Looking pointedly to the Hulk, the Devil offered yet another mean grin. “Suppose you’re responsible for this? Spot on job, I must say. Pure art,” Lucifer complimented sincerely at the Hulk, who grunted irritably in response to the praise. The Devil grimaced at the sound.

“Lucifer?” Tony questioned, faintly shocked to hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Hm? Oh, yes, my apologies. I’d intended on flying directly here, but my attention was snatched by a man and his partner incompetently caught in a rapidly burning minivan.”

“It’s... fine,” Tony decided, mind spinning in every which direction. “Thanks for the help.” 

Lucifer stared for a moment and then coughed into his fist, determinedly not looking at any of them. “I suppose you’re quite welcome. Couldn’t very well let the Earth be overrun by pesky parasites from outer space, now could we? Awful business. Haven’t seen the likes of it for millennia.”

“Right…” Tony said. “Because that’s a thing now. _Great,”_ he continued sarcastically. “This is such a mess.”

“Yes, I don’t suppose a few dozen Roombas will make much of a difference, I’m afraid,” the fake brit lamented.

Rogers made a pointed noise, bringing attention to himself. “A Quinjet is on the way. Fury will take Loki into custody.” Thor nodded in understanding and placed his hammer on his brother’s chest, much to Loki’s visible frustration. 

Tony was unsure how that would fix anything but decided not to question it. 

“As you say, son of Roger.”

“Then I suppose our business is concluded then?” Lucifer enquired, doing a poor job at sounding patient.

Tony supposed the Devil might’ve had other things on the program for the day. Like, a couple of damnations for examples, and or perhaps even a few random satanic summonings on the backlog. Should Tony be concerned about taking up the guy’s time? 

“Yes…” Rogers trailed off uncomfortably – and wasn’t that hesitation strange to hear in the captain’s voice. “I think Director Fury wants to speak with you,” Roger informed him followingly.

“I’d rather like to talk to the grumpy fella myself. We have a deal, after all. It’d be bad business to not collect on such an _outrageously_ costly and substandard bargain.”

Tony sighed slightly and seeing as Loki was assumedly restrained, he disengaged from the suit and moved to his dusty couch, avoiding the glass between the seats. 

He flopped onto his back and looked to Lucifer with resignation in his eyes. He pointed a thumb towards the bar.

“Rock of Ages smashed up half my bar, but I still got stock left.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lucifer said, before moving languidly to the bar as if he hadn’t just been involved in a war not even five minutes ago. He picked up a towel from the drawer and held it up. 

Tony waved him off, and Lucifer nodded, wiping the soot off his face. He didn’t bleed from anywhere, Tony absently noted, though everyone else, even Thor, sported visible cuts and bruises. The engineer didn’t have the slightest inclination to puzzle that one out right then and closed his eyes.

“Would anyone else like a drink, gentlemen, lady?” the Devil spoke up conversationally. “I’ll have you know I make a mean cosmopolitan.” 

“I’ll take a glass of scotch, if you don’t mind, Lucy,” Tony answered, defeated. 

“Naturally,” Lucifer commented as he worked the counter like an expert bartender. 

“Should I toss some alcohol into the hole?” Lucifer asked a moment after as he rifled through the selection.

Tony opened an eye and looked to Rogers – who was staring intently at Lucifer and didn’t seem inclined to react – so Tony pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Nope. His coupon expired when he threw me out of the window,” Tony said, to which Lucifer nodded in clear understanding and resumed looking for unbroken tumblers. 

It’d been a long-ass day.

No one else seemed willing, so Tony received his drink and drunk it with Lucifer, the other man lounging in his visually useless half-armor on the remnants of his designer love seat. 

After a short ten minutes of awkward drinking and groaning from Loki, the local god of marble flooring, the mentioned Quinjet arrived and they flew to the Helicarrier.

Fury stood waiting for them in a conference room once they landed. 

Every eye on the flying ship followed Lucifer, but if the man was uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he didn’t show it. 

“I’ll give you lot twenty-four hours to recuperate and then we need to _debrief._ ” Fury looked to Lucifer, then Thor, and then once again to the restrained Loki. “I assume you have some way to keep him from running?”

“He will not run again, Director. I will make sure of it.” Thor answered solemnly. Loki, gagged, looked mildly enraged, yet resigned to the situation. Fury nodded shortly. 

“Simply wonderful,” Lucifer spoke up. “ – and a _complete_ waste of my time. Well, if you’ll excuse me. I’m in _dire_ need of a change of clothing and one does, in fact, have to fly themselves all the way back to San Francisco to get it,” Lucifer informed them all rather angrily and strode right back out.

Nobody stopped him. Tony suspected it wouldn’t have been possible in the first place, but no one seemed willing to test the theory. A camera view ignited on a screen in the room and they watched as Lucifer stood one moment – and was gone with a sudden flash of white wings the next. 

Director Fury redirected his one-eyed gaze to Tony. “We have much to discuss, Stark.”

He held up his hands as he started towards the hallway. “You said you were desperate,” he reminded, and Fury looked pained by the response. “We all did what we had to do.”

“Yes…” Fury murmured, a strangely compassionate expression flitting across his face and Tony turned his back to it. 

He was lucky to be alive – if luck had anything to do with it.

It was frustrating _not to know._

-6-6-6-

Late afternoon the next day saw a much different Lucifer landing on the Helicarrier. 

Such a sudden arrival, though, prompted a startled soldier to shoot him straight in the face. 

“Bloody _Hell!”_ he exclaimed, rubbing at his temple. He directed an exasperated stare at the soldier in question. “That was entirely unnecessary – and now I have a headache, marvelous. I hope you’re proud of yourself, you grunt. It isn’t as if I haven’t just been shot at by aliens for a good couple of hours yesterday already.”

“I’m... I’m sorry!” the _beyond_ mortified man exclaimed. 

“Well that’s quite useless to me, isn’t it?” he huffed. Looking briefly around, he snappily concluded that standing around and acting the live target was anything but desirable and then started towards the nearest entrance. 

The humans were staring, and Lucifer knew why. However, though they’d seen the divine multiple times now, they didn’t seem insane _yet._

A positive aspect of this universe, it seemed. One, _single_ positive aspect. 

Lucifer frowned and the sound of semi-automatic weapons stirred nervously within his earshot. 

“Mr. Morningstar, if you’d please follow me,” a woman in a mask and grey scrubs called after him from a side-door. 

“Wonderful!” Lucifer responded, taking quick steps towards the woman. “Someone with a lick of sense around here. After you, darling,” he said, and the woman nodded, directing him inside. 

Lucifer followed along. “Quite the getup you have there. Intending on giving me a physical, are you?” 

“I will be conducting a health check, sir.”

“I’m perfectly healthy – irritatingly enough.” But, oh, how he _wished_ to see himself bleed once more. A bruise. A graze – _anything._

_How morbid is that?_

Hurriedly seeking a distraction, Lucifer walked closer to the woman and spoke close to her ear. 

“Let’s skip the procedure, hm? I quite like a good roleplay,” he purred. “What do you say, _doctor_?” A wide grin stretched his lips, and the woman expectedly eyed him dazedly in response moments after, having hardly needed any further enticement. 

Thoroughly stunned by the generous proposition, the brunette shakingly attempted to open the door but fumbled clumsily with the handle instead. Helpfully, Lucifer took hold of her hand and turned her towards him, her back meeting the door. 

He lowered her mask and grinned salaciously down at her, leaning closer.

The woman blushed heavily. He hummed with appreciation and admired the beautiful _blue_ of her eyes. “Exquisite,” he proclaimed heatedly. “I expect you’d look even lovelier out of those scrubs, however,” he commented, raising his eyebrows in invitation. 

“I’m… working, I can’t – shouldn’t…” 

“Oh, come now, my dear,” he urged. 

“Pamala,” she interjected breathily, her heartbeat filling the empty hallway they occupied.

“Pammy, then,” he reasserted. “What is it you desire most in this world, hm? What is your most burning, forbidden _need_ , Pammy? I’ll be happy to provide.”

“I..I-I…” 

“ _Yes?_ ” 

“ – I want to fill my fiancé’s gaming console with milk and throw his ant farm out the window,” Pamala confessed.

Lucifer paused, bemused. 

The women of this universe were truly a peculiar bunch. 

“That was not quite what I had in mind,” he admitted, but shrugged it off and resumed nuzzling at her neck, much to the woman’s enjoyment. “As it stands, your fiancé is clearly lacking in his ability to satisfy you and _that_ need I can cover quite well,” he said, hands drifting to her hips. 

“ _God_ yes,” she moaned as he took a nibble.

Lucifer stopped up short and leveled an incredulous stare at her. “Must you?” he demanded in disgust; mood spoiled.

Flustered, Pamala was unable to answer and grabbed for him desperately instead. He was about ready to continue when Director Fury unexpectedly rounded the corner. 

“Unhand my physician immediately,” he ordered sternly, looking pissed and bald both – an unlucky combination, which made Lucifer think of his brother. 

Raising his hands in surrender, Lucifer dutifully stepped away with a smile. 

“Everything is quite consensual, I assure you.”

“Besides the fucking point. Get in,” Fury demanded, opening the door. Pamala hurriedly reapplied her mask and shuffled inside abashedly, the men following her in. 

Fury closed the door and looked to her. She about stammered a response, but Fury interrupted her. “We’re gonna have a long talk about your professionalism, but that talk isn’t now. Do your damned job.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, moving to her workstation. 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “Quite the party pooper, aren’t you, Director?”

“It’s in the job title,” he responded gruffly, standing in front of the door. “I didn’t think I needed to come down here, but you managed to compromise my physician in less than two minutes – leaving me no choice.”

“I’m afraid I’m entirely unrepentant. The poor woman is clearly bereft, Director. You may consider it a public service, in fact.”

A silent glower met him.

“I mean, look at her,” he said, sweeping a hand at the poor woman. “She’s about ready to jump me at any given moment. A travesty – however much I’d highly enjoy it. And her, of course.”

“I don’t know how you do it – but you _bet_ you’re going to be telling me all about it before this day is over. Stark told us you have some psychic abilities – “

“Quite the tattletale, isn’t he?” he interrupted, evading. “And such a delight to have at a party! Why the things I could tell you about Vegas – “

“Sir,” Fury grit out, halting him. “Let Agent Taylor conduct the necessary tests, and then we’ll have a nice long talk. And make no mistake, I’ll make you talk.”

“Some people will tell you it’s rather hard to _stop_ me when I get going, Director, but very well – as you say.” 

Pamala approached with a needle and Lucifer stared, confused. “Hm, what’s that for now? I don’t suppose it’s anything recreational.”

“A simple blood test. Please bunch up your shirt, sir.”

“A _blood_ test? Whatever for?”

“We need to test your DNA –“

“Well, then you might as well stop right here, Director. I do not have any of this ‘DNA,’ so this is rather pointless.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone has DNA. Thor had a particularly strange set of DNAs, but like any other existing species – even the _Chitauri,_ for Christ’s sake – you have DNA.”

“Keep him out of this conversation, I implore you – and I most certainly do not,” he denied. 

“Let us take a blood test and we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“What? With that little sewing needle of hers? Good luck, my dear,” he directed at Pamala. 

“These are reinforced needles. Limited invulnerability was an issue we faced with Thor as well,” Fury informed him. 

Skeptical and feeling mischievous, Lucifer shrugged and bunched up his shirt. Directing his arm at Pamala, the physician cleaned an area and lined up her needle. 

She started pressing against his skin – but nothing happened. She took a deep breath and made a second brave attempt but predictably got nowhere.

“Ready to give up?”

A frustrated third attempt was made in a new location. Lucifer looked smugly to the director. 

“Seems your little ‘reinforced’ needle isn’t quite as divinely endowed as one might’ve hoped,” he grinned, repositioning his sleeve. 

“What now, Director?” he asked the sour man. Director Fury stared at the needle and had a nonverbal conversation with Pamala for a few seconds, resulting in Pamala shaking her head slowly, at a loss. 

Fury let out a long, angry sigh and rubbed his forehead. 

Finding himself extraordinarily bored by the whole situation as well as the lack of discourse, Lucifer stood to move out of the room. 

“You’re not going anywhere, sir,” Fury said, eye narrowing in suspicion. “We have you on lock-down until we can determine if you are a threat to the people on board this ship.”

“Lock-down?” he grinned. “Want me all to yourself, do you? Regardless, you can’t keep me here.”

“You’ll find that I can.”

“On the contrary, my incensed, one-eyed friend with a debt larger than my brother’s ego – you’ll find that locked doors disagree with me,” he said as he took hold of the handle and – simply opened the door and stepped outside.

For a split second, Fury had clearly intended to go for his gun but refrained with a frustrated look on his face. 

“Magic?” he murmured spitefully. 

“Not quite,” Lucifer answered, before spreading his arms. “I do believe it was your intention to determine my threat level, wasn’t it? I seem to remember you mentioning a meeting – or have the both of us been uninvited whilst I was gone? Your general attitude doesn’t lend you much in the terms of charisma, I’m afraid, so I’d probably uninvite you as well,” he admitted lastly in a ramble. 

Fury looked completely done, and the clear _fury_ in the man’s one visible eye made Lucifer’s lips twitch with amusement. 

“Motherfucker,” the director articulated crudely, finally giving up. He pointed down the hallway.

“Walk – and try not to compromise any more of my agents on our way to the deck,” he demanded, and Lucifer started walking in said direction without complaint, taking the time to calmly observe his surroundings as they went. 

Eventually, they reached the infamous deck and Lucifer strode in first, lighting up at the recognizable background. 

“Oh hello! I remember this place! This is where you called me, wasn’t it? Yes, you interrupted quite the get-together – Francis was very cross with me, I’ll have you know. I’d promised to demonstrate my impeccable juggling skills, you see, but was called away before I had the chance,” he sniffed, hands going to his pockets as he inspected the multitude of screens and people in the area.

“The Devil juggles?” a voice asked, and it’s _Tony,_ sitting leisurely in a seat by the conference table. “How does that look on the resume? Bartender, pianist, juggler, Root of all Evil –“

“Why I never – that is absolute slander!” Lucifer said, raising his voice. “I don’t commit evil – I _punish_ evil,” he explained crossly.

“Is that so?” Tony asked. “Because I’ve read at least five different books saying differently – “

“Not fit to wipe your _arse_ in, I assure you,” Lucifer derided. 

“And then there’s like a dozen different institutions worldwide – the church of Satan included – who’re pretty certain of you general MO –“

“As if any of these dullards have ever actually spoken to me –“

“Not to mention the title ‘Father of Lies,’ which – let’s be honest here – doesn’t really work in your favor – “

“Oh, come now, Tony – you know I don’t lie,” he grinned wickedly, stepping closer to him and Tony took a moment before slowly returning the gesture with a smirk. 

“Contradictory – I like it,” Tony concluded, before promptly losing all traces of his smile. Tony leveled him with a serious stare for a second. “Thank you – for, uh, fishing me out of that wormhole,” he tried, and he was about as fluent in apologies as Lucifer himself was, which somehow managed to be endearing and sad simultaneously.

“…You’re welcome,” he decided inelegantly, an odd feeling fleeting through him at the words.

“What just happened?” a random, bespectacled man spoke up, looking thoroughly confused. 

“That was me forgiving Lucifer for scaring the crap out of me and not giving a single fuck for like two months. Isn’t that right, Old Scratch?”

“To my defense, darling, you didn’t really provide me the opportunity to make the attempt. Like most other mortals when they see my other face, you _ran away_.” A soft, but understanding smile stole across Lucifer’s expression – before it was gone. “You didn’t even answer any of my snaps. I mean, how _dare_ you, our streak is _suffering.”_

“Drove. I _drove_ away – and I’m absolutely not answering any of your snaps until you quit sending me unsolicited dick pics –”

“Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying them –“

“That’s _beside_ _the point_ –“

“Shut your motherfucking traps this instance! MY GOD,” Fury exclaimed loudly.

Lucifer pointed at him aggressively. 

“For the absolute _LAST_ time – keep my Father out of this! He’s not even in this ridiculous universe, so you shouldn’t even bother. And even if he was, he doesn’t listen worth a damn, so it’s completely wasted effort!”

A blank, bored stare greeted his aggravation, and Lucifer could feel his teeth clench tighter. 

Slowly, more people entered the deck and the seats of the table now occupied several more familiar faces – but Lucifer was still maintaining eye contact with the frowning cyclops clad in leather and refused to back down quite so easily. 

Everyone was staring at him. 

“The wings are gone,” the archer from the roof announced.

“Amazing observational skills, Birdbrain. What tipped you off?” Tony answered for him. 

The patriot spoke up, blond eyebrows pinched. “I don’t believe you,” he said, and both Lucifer and Fury broke the stare. 

“Hm?” Lucifer sounded, befuddled. “Don’t believe what, exactly?”

“You’re really trying to convince these people that you’re… Satan?” he questioned dubiously, shaking his head slowly. The man looked contrite. “You shouldn’t joke about that. It’s not right, and it could cause trouble – probably already has caused trouble, in fact.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes pointedly. “I don’t lie.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s a point of pride, actually. You humans dubbed me The Father of Lies – not I. I always tell the truth.”

Fury made a disbelieving noise and turned to look at the other non-human in the room, who seemed to somehow stare at Lucifer _with more force_ than anyone else in the room. 

“Prince Thor – do you have anything to contribute to this? His origins?” Fury asked, a soft demand hidden between the words.

“He told me he was from Helheim – “

“I did not! In fact, I distinctly remember telling you the exact opposite!” Lucifer cut in, exasperated. 

The director’s head swirled rapidly from Thor to Lucifer, then back again, as if something finally made sense to the man. The gruff fella pointed to Lucifer rudely, his finger aiming at his chest threateningly as he spoke aloud to his gang of employees seated at the monitors. 

“Bring up the abnormal readings recorded in New Mexico a couple of months ago.”

A series of graphs and pictures of Lucifer’s landing spot popped up on the large screens, and Lucifer scoffed. 

“This is where Thor and his companions arrived last when they were on Earth – and two months ago SHIELD, with the assistance of Dr. Jane Foster, recorded another strange phenomenon in _exactly_ this location. They reported that they made contact with an individual, who later informed them he was from a realm called _Helheim_.”

“ _Hell_ ,” Lucifer corrected automatically. 

“After which, he disappeared.”

Thor’s brows furrowed, visibly puzzled by this. “That should not be possible. The Bifrost is damaged,” he declared. “When confronting my brother the year prior, I destroyed the Bifrost – keeping me from returning earlier.” He stared at Lucifer, who matched the scrutiny exactly.

“Only the Bifrost could transport you from Helheim to Midgard.”

“I am not from _Helheim._ I’m from Hell, period. Are you hard of hearing?” Lucifer questioned harshly. “For that matter, what in the world _are_ you? You’re clearly not a human.”

“I am Aesir, of course,” Thor proudly informed. “From the realm of Asgard,” he elaborated.

“Of course,” Lucifer said sarcastically. “Which makes you… what – exactly?” 

“A god.”

Lucifer snorted so suddenly he covered his mouth with his hand, followed by an explosive bout of guffaws. Thor was not amused, but even Tony couldn’t help but let out a snicker at Lucifer’s disbelief.

“That’s – that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard – and believe me, I’ve been alive for quite a while and have born witness to enough of it.”

“You are immortal then,” Fury examined, and Lucifer tried to stop laughing long enough to answer. 

“Oh yes,” he grinned with a lingering snicker. “Immortal, invulnerable, _divine_ – “

“Like Thor,” the red-haired woman pointed out coolly. 

“I highly doubt that,” Lucifer spoke condescendingly to the lot of them. “He looks entirely mortal to me.”

Apparently insulted, Thor spoke up loudly. “I am more than one thousand Midgardian years old – !“

“While mildly impressive, I assume it has something to do with the fact that you’re an _extraterrestrial_ , no? Goodness gracious _. Aliens_ ,” he complained. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Do you perchance have limitless age?”

Thor stroked his beard thoughtfully. “No, I do not,” he admitted aloud.

“Well, there you go then. Not immortal, and certainly not a _God._ The _hubris_ alone.”

Thor inclined his head reluctantly in defeat. “And you? How old do you claim to be, and if not from Helheim, from where do you hail?” 

“I am the Devil – and I do believe I’ve told you multiple times where I’m from. Hell,” he stressed, then paused. “Well, if we want to be entirely technical, I am an angel, and therefore I come from Heaven,” he said, pointing upwards. 

The room was silent for a while, but people were shooting each other disbelieving glances, unwilling to take him at his word. Or perhaps they just refused to acknowledge that this conversation was happening at all.

Thor was the only one not completely unable to process that. “My Lady Jane told me of these creatures! This religion called Christianity spoke of winged men from the heavens, and a Devil man from below. Was this you, she spoke of, my friend?” he questioned curiously. 

“Certainly,” Lucifer confirmed, realigning his cufflinks as he nodded amiably at the friendliness. “And yourself? The Nordic ‘god’ of Thunder, _Thor_ , are you?”

The large blonde nodded, and Lucifer cocked his head.

“I must admit, I honestly thought you were a myth.”

Thor crossed his arms and legs as he leaned back in his chair, inclining his head pensively at Lucifer.

“Likewise,” Thor admitted, and Lucifer grinned in amusement.

“This is so weird. Am I the only one who thinks this is fucking insane? It’s like the beginning of a bad joke. I mean – the God of Thunder, Captain America, and _Satan_ walks into a bar – “ Tony started, but Fury slammed his hands into the table and stared hard at Lucifer and Thor. Finally, he rested his gaze on lucifer alone.

“If you want me to believe you’re the actual goddamned – “

“ – Goddamned is fairly accurate – “

“ – biblical Devil of Christianity, then I need some fucking better proof than two white sources of pillow stuffing.”

“Uh, no, you _really_ don’t, Captain eyepatch,” Tony broke in before Lucifer had time to be insulted. 

“Why not?” the apparent captain broke in, frowning.

 _“Trust me,”_ Tony said firmly, _seriously_ , and Lucifer failed to hide his slight wince at that, directing a brief look of apology at the engineer. 

Tony held up a hand. “ _Really._ Don’t worry about it. I’m over it. Well, not exactly, but I’m getting there. I just gotta… rethink absolutely everything I know about literally everything. No biggie,” Tony shrugged humorlessly.

Lucifer grimaced, after which the woman in spandex spoke up again. “You seriously believe him, Stark? That he’s the actual Devil?” 

“I’m at least 89% certain he’s telling the truth.”

“I don’t lie,” Lucifer repeated for the umpteenth time that day.

“Fucking Hell,” Fury ground out, glaring at the lot of them. “I cannot believe this.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice, Director,” Lucifer said, moving towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “You owe me quite the debt, after all – and the Devil always collects his dues.”

Fury stared at him. At his hand, then at Tony, then back at the hand, and lastly to the ceiling. 

Noticing this, Lucifer’s grin widened cruelly. 

“Ah, I’m afraid he won’t be any help. _He’s not here_.”

The patriot in particular was sporting a very disturbed expression now. 

“What do you mean? _Who’s_ not here?”

“Why, my father, of course,” Lucifer elaborated joyously, and the aforementioned patriot’s face lost a bit of its color. 

“So Nietzsche was correct then? ‘God is dead’ – go figure,” Tony joked before laughing self-depreciatingly with a hand running through his disheveled hair. “I mean, it makes perfect sense if you think about it.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand me, darling. He’s very much alive, he’s just not _here_ ,” Lucifer emphasized.

The lady frowned. “Explain.”

“It all ties back to the reason _I’m_ here, you see. Why you have those fancy ‘readings’ from the hellish place called New Mexico. The fact of the matter is – I’m displaced.”

“Displaced?” Fury questioned. 

Lucifer nodded, looking annoyed. “I’m afraid so, Director. I’m not supposed to be here. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been displaced, but I’ve never been dumped in another universe entirely without at least being informed beforehand. If I didn’t already suspect where the mistake lies now, I’d have accused my father of playing one of his tricks again, the _bastard_.”

Tony hummed. “A mistake… and you land in New Mexico, of all places.”

“Yes. I tried to return to Hell, you see, but something went wrong _, clearly_ , and I was spat out in a dessert for the second time in as many years. And in another universe entirely to boot. Frustrating beyond belief, I tell you.”

Lucifer pointed at Thor. 

“And from what I’ve gathered today, I think it’s _your_ fault I cannot return to my home universe,” he accused. 

Thor looked mildly startled – and slightly insulted. “I?”

“Yes, you,” Lucifer inculpated. “If I remember correctly, you have a fancy rainbow bridge called the Bifrost, right? Capable of interstellar and dimensional travel, I assume?”

“That is correct,” Thor nodded. 

“Well, then it’s my belief that I’m continuously spat out in New Mexico when I attempt to shift planes because your bloody pride-parade bridge _broke_ and damaged the path I’m trying to take.”

Thor nodded slowly again, suddenly extremely remorseful. 

“’Tis sadly a possibility, my friend. Many consequences came from the breakage. My sincerest apologies. The Bifrost is undergoing repairs as we speak, but it is far from functional at this time. My father, _The Allfather,_ King Odin of Asgard, had to expend much effort to send me here when my brother commenced his invasion.”

“And how do you intend to return?” Lucifer asked, crossing his arms and smothering his sneer. 

“We will use the Tesseract. My father will send a device capable of handling the cube so we may travel back to Asgard where my brother will stand trial for his crimes against Midgard, Asgard, and Jotunheim.” 

“Marvelous,” Lucifer said, glaring at the large Aesir and holding out a hand expectantly. “You will lend me this mysteriously teleporting cube then, so I can bypass the mess you made,” Lucifer proclaimed and everyone in the room looked suddenly _exceedingly_ tense. 

“Absolutely not,” Fury asserted vehemently, aiming a gun at his head again. Thor reached for his hammer, the captain purposefully reequipped is dinner plate and even the archer’s bow made a fast, magical return to his hands.

Lucifer’s smile dropped at the sudden hostility. 

Looking to the mortals around him, the Devil spoke lowly, his eyes flaring up in a fiery red.

“Oh, yes – _you will._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my apologies. Let me know what you think! <3 
> 
> P.S. I'll get around to answering the comments for the last chapter, and this one, after work tomorrow.


	10. Negative Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again - many apologies. I've kinda been stressed out by many things... and this chapter also just refused to feel finished to me no matter how many times I worked on it. It still kinda doesn't, so I'm gonna have to ask for you guys' opinions instead. Let me know what feels iffy? Thank you. :D
> 
> I hope you're all safe and that you'll enjoy this next part.

“WHOA, holy _fuck,_ for the love of _God_ – would you calm down!”

Lucifer abruptly turned his face to the frozen Tony – disconcertedly silent – and Tony immediately knew he’d made a tremendous mistake the second two red jewels of pure danger zeroed in on his stumped face.

Suddenly, Tony suspected he knew exactly what it was like to face the Terminator.

Seemingly flabbergasted by the looks of it, the Devil’s mouth opened in search of words with only an incredulous exhalation sounding through a thick atmosphere of disbelief. A pair of wide, intensely agonized eyes met his own – likely searching for whatever fuckery had seemingly made Tony error in such an upsetting fashion – and Tony fought through his chagrin to keep his own open to greet them.

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” Lucifer questioned him, as if the man couldn’t quite compute it. The glowing eyes dimmed a fraction, and suddenly Lucifer looked mightily offended.

“To me, of all people,” the man continued, directing both palms to his chest to underline the massive blunder Tony just committed against his person _, as if he didn’t already know,_ fuck _._

“Lucifer –“ Tony tried in vain.

 _“Me_ ,” Lucifer stressed again, now looking remarkably stunned, and Tony could feel all the brownie points he’d accumulated flush down the metaphorical toilet, the swirl of failure audible to his ears as the Devil stared at him with tangible, awestricken disappointment.

“This isn’t about you –“ Fury started, voice tense, but was immediately cut off.

“Of course, this is about me!” Lucifer exclaimed angrily, turning blessedly to direct his disturbingly smoldering eyes at the director instead. “You people don’t understand! I need to return. I have _things to do_ ,” he insisted with a pointed hand gesture. “A job, obligations, – a – a family,” the man settled on finally, looking extremely contrite – which really didn’t mesh very well with the image he represented at the moment.

A frustrated keen escaped the Devil as he palmed his face with obvious signs of stress, tilting his head back as he groaned on. “ _Chloe,_ Mazikeen, Amenadiel, Charlie, Beatrice, Ella, _my therapist Linda_ –“

“You’re getting therapy?” Tony interrupted heartlessly – and then slapped a hand to his mouth and shut his eyes tightly _._ Lucifer’s attention switched again, fury frothing forth once more while Tony mentally cussed himself out harsher than he ever had before. Even Rogers himself threw Tony a look of bafflement, which managed to convince him further that muteness really should be a mandatory state of affairs for him during this meeting going forward.

“Of course, I am! – Are you even bloody listening to me?!” Lucifer shouted at him, voice thick with obvious _despair_ and Tony flinched. 

“I need _help,”_ the Devil admitted with gritted teeth _,_ and it was clear the words _hurt_ him to say. “You humans absolutely infuriate me with all your contradictory behavior and lies – waltzing about as if you have any idea what’s going on. Well news flash, mortals, _nobody_ knows what’s going on!” Lucifer spat hatefully, pointing a finger at Fury’s wide eye, and then directing it to the ceiling.

“My Father doesn’t bloody well share his plan with anybody and even when he deigns to communicate at all, he never says anything useful!” he raged on. “The closest I’ve gotten to _maybe_ conversing with him in millennia was through a divine belt buckle and now I’m stuck in a cosmic joke of a universe alike my own – but so terribly _wrong_ – and he doesn’t give a damn! Or he would’ve surely stopped it – I know he would’ve! ALIEN INVASIONS,” he said deafeningly, throwing his hands up into the air.

“Thunder ‘gods’,” he continued with spite, gesturing to an equally wide-eyed Thor.

“Bloody superheroes,” Lucifer whined – as if that fact alone pained him more than anything else. “A Father-be-damned _troll_ from who-knows-where and to top it all off, I finally – after two whole months of excessive depression, isolation, drugs, alcohol, sex and wretched partying, as the _only_ divine being in this pathetically abysmal hellscape that I find myself in – I _finally_ find a possible way to return on my own, to the people I hold closest to my beaten, _bleeding_ heart _–_ and you _people_ ,” he hissed, making the lot of them cringe. “You involve me in your bloody _war_ for a _deal_ and then you have the _nerve_ to deny me it!”

“Sir, we need you to calm down –“ Agent Hill somehow summoned the stones to say with a tremulous voice, but Lucifer wasn’t having it.

“I will not bloody well calm down!” he yelled into the wider expanse of the deck, incensed. “We made a deal – _yesterday!_ Don’t you dare tell me I’m not entitled to my part of the bargain!” he growled out menacingly, and Director Fury took several steps back as Lucifer stepped closer, polished black shoes and engraved cufflinks glinting as surely as his eyes in righteous fury. 

“I cannot give you the cube,” Fury told him firmly, gun unwavering though his voice failed to inspire much confidence. A task his gun similarly failed to accomplish. 

Another low, displeased sound escaped Lucifer’s flaring nostrils as the Devil stared the man down like he could convince the director’s body to spontaneously combust with the power of his wrath alone.

To be entirely realistic – he probably could, and if Tony wasn’t as absolutely terrified as was entirely deserved considering the situation, he would be contemplating the applications. Such as it was, this really couldn’t continue.

Tony peeped up, unable to help himself and feeling reluctantly _a little bit_ responsible for the presently unfolding cluster of fuck. “Fury… we made a deal with the Devil. I warned you – I think he’d like his share of the cake now. Before he burns us all to a crisp – preferably.”

“Silence, Stark!”

“Speak up, Stark!” Lucifer challenged petulantly. “Make this man see some bloody sense!”

“Morningstar,” Fury tried again, catching the consistently red-eyed lord of Hell’s attention and probably regretting it immediately. Despite his bravado, Fury withdrew slightly at the stare. Tony doubted anyone blamed him. Bruce had long since made camp beneath the conference table with both hands on his ears and even though he really shouldn’t be, Tony was grateful for it – and jealous. So extremely jealous.

“I cannot give you the cube,” Fury repeated, louder, and heat flared in the room in response. Obviously sweating, Fury disengaged the safety of his gun and looked resolutely back at the present source of fear.

“I _cannot_ – it does not belong to me. It belongs to them,” he said, cocking his head in Thor’s general direction. Several jaws nearly dropped at the audacity of pawning off what was conceivably the Devil himself on the prince of Asgard, but the blond alien himself merely straightened up proudly, shoulders squared and by all accounts prepared for another war at any given moment.

Lucifer clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Then you will convince the immortality-wannabe to lend it to me,” Lucifer negotiated threateningly.

_“I can’t.”_

“Why the bloody Hell not!” Lucifer demanded hotly, and for a moment, Tony wondered why the director wasn’t already on fire. By all rights, he really should be on fire.

And though his mouth had opened, ready for whatever else bullshit he’d prepared – Fury didn’t get a chance to reply. Lucifer’s patience had seemingly fizzled out somewhere in the last five seconds.

The Devil strode towards Thor with intent and Thor was _ready._

“You will hand me the cube,” the Devil informed Thor to his face, the two tall men nose to nose as red eyes met electric blue in a battle of otherworldly wills.

“I cannot, Devil man,” Thor spoke deeply, a challenging expression on his face and a cautious, diplomatic tone directed at his current adversary. “Only my father has jurisdiction over the Tesseract.”

Lucifer sneered with clear disdain at the answer. “And you’re such an obedient son, are you?”

At this, Thor narrowed his eyes.

“I can see it now. The favorite…” Lucifer trailed off irritably, the tension surely rising as the Devil studied him closely.

“Aren’t you? The golden child – the obedient warrior… Until you’re – not,” he concluded, and Thor clenched his teeth together, anger seeping forth through the cracks.

“Oh yes,” Lucifer suddenly grinned meanly. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? Don’t look so surprised – _I can smell it on you –_ the heavy disappointment of the _great_ Father. Why were you on Earth, _mighty_ Thor? Did Father _punish_ you?”

Oh, oh.

“Hold your poisonous tongue,“ Thor ordered in a low growl, his grip tightening around the hilt of his currently very dodgy-looking hammer.

Clearly sensing a whisper of victory, Lucifer’s grin widened, showing entirely too many teeth as Thor’s frustration visibly grew. The prince didn’t speak, frigid eyes steadily thawing as they bore into Lucifer’s scalding gaze, alight with what Tony identified as a familiar intent.

“You know what I want,” Lucifer crooned ominously, the crimson spark in his eyes sending a flicker through his visage that no one was ready for in the slightest – the Devil’s monstrous appearance making a split-second cameo for all to witness.

Once again, Tony felt the blood in his veins freeze.

Every human in the room recoiled in unison. From the corner of his eyes, Tony spied Rogers’ vaguely panicked breathing translate into bent metal and trembling hands. Even Thor’s gaze gained a warranted amount of apprehension as he maintained his stance, clearly not backing down despite his unease.

“What do _you_ want, prince of Asgard?” Lucifer purred, leaning closer still, as Thor’s body tensed further.

“I –“ Thor began, but managed to stop himself with a shudder and a godly amount of effort.

“What is your deepest, most precious desire, hm?” Lucifer tempted. “Tell me,” he demanded softly.

“What’s happening…” Barton muttered in alarm, staring at the spectacle, but Tony was too busy observing the train wreck to explain it. Honestly, he hardly understood it himself.

Thor’s sagging shoulders signified his defeat.

“I want… my brother back,” Thor murmured with a sorrowful expression, his grip on Mjolnir loosening. Significant stares were exchanged at the surprisingly sudden capitulation, but hardly anyone was satisfied with Lucifer’s inexplicable success.

As if struck, Lucifer stepped back with disgust written all over his face. 

“That’s it? Your _brother?”_ he spat, unhappy. Lucifer pointed to the hallway.

“I can feel his psycho-depressive vibes from here if you’re so desperate to see him – what the Hell kind of desire is this?” he complained at Thor, who shook his head in distress, clearly in the process of recalibrating.

“My brother is not himself… he’s damaged, and I fear I cannot repair what has been done to him. What _I_ have done to him…”

Lucifer looked long-sufferingly to the ceiling. “Ugh. Re _gret_ – the surest ticket straight to Hell,” Lucifer derided. He then sighed deeply and turned towards the hallway determinately.

“FINE,” he said with a large gesture as he turned on his heel. “I can make this work. You want a squeaky-clean and sane little brother,” he continued insultingly. “Better strike while the iron is hot then.” And without further ado, he started moving towards the hallway to where Loki was indeed held in custody. 

“Don’t!” Fury called out – in vain. Lucifer continued walking.

“Not another step,” he threatened again, and from the corner of his eyes, Tony noted that Rogers looked about ready to tackle Lucifer on the spot, Barton not far behind him, though both men were sweating up a storm.

Tony was _not_ getting involved with that line of thinking. _No_. At this point, Lucifer could be walking towards the White House and Tony would likely contract malaria on the spot _to_ _not deal with it._

When Lucifer predictably didn’t stop – Fury shot him in the back, the sound echoing in the room loud enough to startle the chemist under the table.

Lucifer stumbled slightly and turned his head to the director, brows furrowed and obviously vexed. 

“Could you not? I’m trying to work out a new deal since you’ve proven so _woefully_ inadequate.”

“I cannot let you free Loki,” Fury said, defying the Devil for like the fifth time in about as many minutes and reluctantly, Tony felt his respect for the man rise as well as his pity.

“Freeing him? Are you bloody insane? The guy is a nutcase,” Lucifer responded, and Thor’s lips pressed together.

“I really don’t have the time for this,” Lucifer decided then, turning back. Fury shot him again and a few other agents followed his example, shooting him multiple times as he steadily neared the entrance to the hallway. Even Natacha gave it a shot but was ultimately ineffective. Impressively, they’d managed at least to slow him down a bit, but nobody seemed particularly pleased with the result as the man seemed effortlessly capable of emulating an annoyingly mobile wall of adamantium.

Grumpily, Lucifer paused to take off his now more than slightly tattered jacket – only to throw it angrily into the face of one of the nearest agents aiming a gun at him. The agent spluttered indignantly and removed the garment from his face.

“I’ll be sending you a bill – Armani certainly isn’t cheap, and you’ve successfully _murdered_ this jacket. Positively damnable, surely,” Lucifer complained but continued nevertheless again down the hallway.

“Stop!” Rogers called out now when Fury and the agents eventually quit attempting to shoot Lucifer.

Lucifer did not stop – like the absolute asshole that he was.

Rogers quickly rounded the table and ran forwards towards Lucifer, but his target spun in the last second and grabbed the captain by the throat, holding him up and away from his body as Rogers struggled to free himself.

“I cannot believe I’m saying this,” Lucifer ground out, staring at his captive. “But don’t touch me. I will not release your insane little prisoner, so quit your needless worrying,” Lucifer commanded them firmly.

He promptly released Rogers, dodged a fist to the face as if he _hadn’t_ just been assaulted by Captain America and then escaped briskly down the hall, the superheroes and agents alike left with no other choice than to follow the man to hopefully minimize whatever damage this had the potential to cause.

Somehow, and Tony couldn’t tell you exactly how he managed it, Lucifer reached the room to Loki’s containment cell with only minimal issue. He stared at the hand scanner next to the door and then without so much as a pause he placed his palm on it firmly, green light mocking the onlookers as the door obediently granted the man access.

“HOW,” Tony yelled, and audaciously, the Devil apparently had the excess of mind to throw him a cheeky grin before he entered. Pissed didn’t even cover it anymore - the Devil didn’t come equipped with satellite tracking, but immediate access hacking technology was free game?! _Bullshit._ Tony would have _words._

The retina scan at the next door proved fruitless as well, and keyless, Lucifer opened that door as well and approached the transparent prison wall in front of him.

“You – new-gothic hippie with megalomania the size of a small star system,” Lucifer called out and Loki’s head turned to him fast. “Yes, you. Your ridiculous brother ‘wants you back,’ – whatever the Hell that’s supposed to mean, so I’m going to attempt to heal whatever ailment your greasy head is supposedly suffering and then be on my way. _So get over here.”_

When Loki didn’t move, Lucifer’s eyes blazed red.

“GET OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW,” he commanded loudly, his voice taking on a distinctly demonic quality that had the muzzled Loki standing up immediately and leaning against the nearest wall, his wide eyes centered on Lucifer with palpable hesitancy.

Self-perseveration simultaneously held Loki back and made the god move towards Lucifer.

Looking for an opening mechanism and finding none, Lucifer frowned. “Open this contraption.”

“No.”

“I’m giving you a choice. This cell will open with or without your consent,” Lucifer warned Fury.

“Loki must not escape.”

“He won’t,” Lucifer reassured.

“He’ll kill more people – ”

“And if he tries anything like that again, I’ll drag him to Hell myself, I assure you,” Lucifer responded sourly. “Eventually. He will not escape, however, but even if he does, he’ll never escape _me_. No sinner ever does,” Lucifer promised insidiously.

Fury pursed his lips, and for one long, tense moment, it looked like Lucifer was about to lose all the non-existent patience he didn’t possess to start with.

The director’s hand went into his pocket and somehow unlocked the door. Stepping in without as much as a thank you, Lucifer immediately took hold of Loki’s collar and hissed a second later, irritated.

“Fancy yourself a sorcerer, do you?” Lucifer derided with a wrinkled nose and Loki’s wild eyes glared daggers into his skull. “Whatever you’re trying to do – stop it. It’s annoying,” he informed him, making Loki narrow his eyes spitefully.

“Now, let’s see what we can do here,” Lucifer started pensively, examining the alien in his grasp. “You might want to stand back,” Lucifer informed them all after a small pause.

Near-instantaneously, they were forced to duck, roll and jump back as Lucifer’s giant wings manifested out of nowhere.

“HOLY –“

“Yes, yes – I’m aware. Don’t stare too hard now, or you’ll go insane,” Lucifer sighed as he speedily plucked a little down feather off of his plumage, after which he placed it gingerly on Loki’s head. The god went cross-eyed at the action and renewed his struggling to no avail.

“Now then,” he said, concentrating. And by the power of some magic – presumably – the feather glowed softly and completely illogically; Loki’s head seemed to _absorb_ it.

Magic angel feather of apparent healing now evaporated, the alien criminal went boneless in Lucifer’s hold, staring straight up as if receiving a transmission from the wrong pantheon. The angel in the room scoffed at the reaction and snapped his fingers in front of Loki’s face to test his consciousness.

The wings folded into absolutely nowhere and Lucifer gave Loki a little shake. “Earth to human – or alien, as it were. Are you fully functional again, or casually catatonic?”

Loki blinked and mumbled something unintelligible through his muzzle.

“What was that? For goodness sake, could someone kindly remove the bondage equipment from this Viking, or must I do everything myself?”

“What did you do to my brother?” Thor boomed in concern and anger.

“Well, I’ve got no clue, your _highness_. The nasty bugger is gagged harder than a volunteer at a BDSM festival. Remove this silly device or we’ll never know,” Lucifer said, an additional shake of Loki’s whole upper body accompanying his exasperation.

Thor moved immediately to disengage the Asgardian mouthpiece and Loki took a deep breath as soon as he was able.

“You – “ a low whine, “you absolute – infuriating – “ his eyes clenched shut. “My head – it’s _gone._ What have you _done_?” Loki questioned breathlessly with an annoyed expression.

“You tell me, wizard of chaos and failed invasions. Do you feel _fixed?”_

Tony snorted from the side, and Loki scrunched his face up, looking equally focused and pissed both despite his discomposure.

“… Aye. My mind is… alone. Mine,” he decided, looking mildly horrified by the situation, and Fury was no better.

“Alone?” Fury questioned with identifiable frustration. “You mean to tell me he was _mind-controlled?”_

“Fucking unbelievable,” someone muttered, and it sounded suspiciously like Barton, who’d been glaring balefully at Loki from his spot in the corner until now.

Loki shook his head slowly in the negative, his teeth clenched tight in agitation.

“So the invasion _was_ your idea?” Rogers interrogated.

The prisoner shook his head again, green eyes traveling to the glass wall while resolutely silent.

“Who, Loki?” Thor stared down at him angrily. “Who gave you the scepter? What greeted you in the void after your fall?”

An uncharacteristic scowl of unease was directed at the floor.

“Who, brother!”

Loki’s eyes snapped back indignantly, but Lucifer jostled him slightly in response to the sudden hostility.

“I’ve got absolutely no time for this. Fall or no fall,” he announced. “It’s not that I can’t relate to the sibling issues – if anyone can, it’s definitely me – but time-a-wasting, people. Thor,” Lucifer addressed, shoving the bound Loki vaguely in Thor’s direction, to which the prince dutifully took hold.

“Your brother’s leech is gone. He’s still full of sinful vengeance and an unwarranted sense of self-importance, but I do believe I’ve kept to my word. May we now negotiate my usage of the elusive die of space travel?”

“Thor – “ Barton spoke up, but Thor held up an arm to stop him.

“This discussion is with none of you, Son of Bart,” he grumbled, returning Lucifer’s stare.

“I acknowledge what you’ve done for my brother, for my family. I spy the aid you have provided in the eyes of Loki, even if he will not admit to it – but I cannot let you handle the Tesseract.” Loki’s eyes sharpened as he observed the proceedings but elected for once to say nothing.

Lucifer visibly bristled, but Thor spoke before he had time to erupt for the third time.

“Devil man – Lucifer – I will speak with my father on your behalf.”

“And how long will this take, exactly?”

“A while, I admit. I will bring Loki to be tried. Your contribution will be invaluable, and I thank you for that. I will do my utmost to plead your case to my father, so he may help you find your way home.”

“Too damn long then,” Lucifer summarized snappily.

“This is the best I can do,” Thor insisted, crossing his arms. “Your only alternative is to fight me for the cube – and I will not accept defeat.”

“So you say,” Lucifer said, a grimace crossing his face, after which it was replaced by a vaguely hopeless expression. After a tense moment of contemplation, Lucifer spoke again.

“I _could_ fight you for it,” he openly, disquietly considered, and the humans on the deck tensed once again.

“Human life will be lost as a result,” Thor countered reasonably, sounding as if he was presenting the conclusion of a cost-benefit analysis that he found entirely too incompatible with his long-term investment plans. “I will protect Midgard with my life, as this realm is my responsibility and home to my allies.”

Lucifer let out a sigh, a hand dragging a few stragglers of hair into place. “I’m not allowed to kill humans,” the man admitted, and Thor nodded in commiseration, the two beings apparently agreeing on a certain value for human life that they couldn’t seemingly fit into their respective hypothetical quest of warfare. Thor looked thoughtful.

“I will bring my brother home and speak to my father – but that will bring me far from Midgard, in no position to help them if the need arises. A task you’ve proven yourself capable of,” Thor said, staring hard at Lucifer, who looked completely unhappy with Thor’s conclusion – but the blond paid no heed and simply continued with his proposition. “Protect them in my stead whilst I deal with the situation on Asgard, and I will convince my father to grant you your request, in whichever manner accomplishes this.”

Lucifer’s lips went thin.

“I have helped you in your war. Saved your ally from a wormhole, a ledge, and a beating respectively. Complied with your senseless procrastination. Healed your lunatic sorcerer brother of his imposed sci-fi schizophrenia – and now, you demand more of me?”

Thor looked at Lucifer, his expression considerate – and mildly embarrassed.

“I do believe I’ve never before in my existence been presented with a negotiator of such pitiable skill.” Lucifer looked to be somewhere between outraged and reluctantly impressed that Thor had had the gall to form words at him at all. _Ouch._

Glancing at Loki, the other prince seemed to give his older brother what Tony could only interpret as the stare of an extremely disappointed college professor – the kind where you knew some serious effort had been invested into the student’s grades, but despite consecutive years of work and personal grief, low-level performance was the result regardless. Right now, Tony wouldn’t be surprised to hear if Loki had written off Thor’s negotiation skills centuries ago – and in Tony's opinion, he really couldn’t be blamed for that. 

“You are very lucky that I’m short on alternatives.”

Thor let out a tired breath and nodded once.

“It would make my efforts to convince my father much easier to focus on, knowing that someone is present to aid them,” Thor said, and Lucifer grimaced in response. “Do we have an accord, King Lucifer of Hell?” Thor offered as he reached out a hand.

Red eyes studied the hand for a few seconds, and probably knowing what he wanted, Lucifer eventually took hold of Thor’s forearm and nodded regally, albeit reluctantly in agreement. It was clear for all to see that Lucifer was _not_ happy about this.

Thor’s eyes sharpened at the contact and the look was wary.

“While I’m pleased to have reached some sort of understanding, I hope you’re aware that the humans will contest this quite vehemently,” Lucifer mentioned then, a pointed eyebrow rising as he tightened the grip.

Unbidden, Thor was teased into a smile. “Humans never quite know what they want, nor need.”

Lucifer smirked, and if anyone asked Tony how he felt at that very moment, he would sue them for emotional abuse on principle, because this whole scene was straight up not acceptable.

-6-6-6-

They relock Loki in his cell.

Lucifer Morningstar was in what appeared to be a very bad mood and informed them promptly after the end of the… negotiations that he needed a ‘clearly god-forsaken break’ and left for the outside area.

Nobody really felt like going after him – certainly not Steve.

Without much debating on the matter, they decide unanimously that Morningstar’s debrief on his participation in the war could wait – for how long was undetermined – and everyone else tried to fill in where they could. Describing what the red-eyed being did for the anti-invasion efforts took a while, and though the racket earlier loomed like the remnants of a storm, the focus was put on facts and observable evidence on every deed committed. And every ability displayed.

They were not few – which was noted, after which they were dismissed for the next account of events – efficiency triumphing over an obnoxiously pink elephant that was dancing a frenzied tango through everybody’s mind.

A couple of hours later, a still mildly red-eyed Lucifer Morningstar strode back onto the main deck area like he owned the place, selected the only seat with a free chair on either side, and proceeded to look entirely unhappy to be there. A few agents were confusedly fingering their automatic weaponry and Steve suspected they were contemplating what they were useful for.

“Sir –“

“Lucifer, please,” Lucifer interjected tiredly, arms crossed and very nearly pouting. 

“Lucifer,” Fury corrected. “What do you say about dimming the Christmas lights for a second, so we can work this out?”

Lucifer sighed and acquiesced, realigning the collar of his dilapidated shirt with a frustrated pinch between his eyebrows – his eyes now weirdly normal, if not still supernaturally _intense._

“Very well,” he articulated loftily, having apparently decided to give them a chance – finally.

“Fucking _great_ , Jesus _Christ_ ,” Fury cursed, and then immediately held up a finger at Lucifer. “I don’t wanna hear it!” Lucifer closed his mouth and grinned unrepentantly at him, sly as a fox.

“Who’s actually someone who _lived_ , right? – Or _did_ he?” Stark questioned smartly, and Lucifer’s grin widened alarmingly further. “I mean, if the Devil’s real and the bearded guy in the sky is also fucking real – because fuck every law of physics, amirite? – then Jesus was real as well, _wasn’t_ he?”

“I don’t know if this – “ Steve started hesitantly.

“Of course, he was,” Lucifer admitted easily, and Steve closed his eyes briefly as Stark rose both arms into the air with explosive exasperation, after which he pointed a finger at Dr. Banner.

“We have so much fucking work to do, Bruce. Aliens, magic – _angels_. Are you _kidding_ me? This has to make sense _somehow_ – I refuse to believe otherwise. I _refuse,”_ he stressed, and Dr. Banner looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, let alone how to answer the rambunctious billionaire.

“Shut the fuck up, Stark,” Fury commanded forcefully, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Looking up, his gaze rested minutely on Lucifer, before he continued. “Now – let’s just get some introductions over with. About high time I think.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America,” Steve introduced politely, taking the initiative, and refusing to admit that he’d done it only to get it over with that much faster. He heard Lucifer snorting but was pleased to be summarily ignored immediately thereafter.

“Thor, prince of Asgard!” Thor, prince of Asgard, exclaimed from his seat. That particular introduction felt uncomfortably unnecessary, but their guest inclined his head in a greeting regardless.

Hawkeye, reclined against the far wall, spoke up next. “My name is Clint Barton – code name, Hawkeye. Agent of SHIELD.”

Lucifer nodded agreeably, then looked to the only other woman in the immediate vicinity aside from agent Hill. She didn’t stand from her seat.

“Natasha Romanov – Black Widow, agent of SHIELD,” she said curtly.

“Killing off your husbands, are you?” Lucifer commented off-handedly with a laugh. Natacha ignored him in favor of scrutinizing his every move, the man’s lips twitching fleetingly at the lack of reaction.

Banner moved to stand, his chair screeching noisily as he made space for himself. He coughed. “Doctor Bruce Banner – I’m a biochemical engineer and uh, the Hulk.”

“Preposterous,” Lucifer decided. “I don’t care what kind of experimental cocaine you cook up in your lab, there’s no way you’re that smashing great troll. I mean, you obviously look nothing alike,” he said, swiping a hand in Banners direction, causing the man to blush.

“Can confirm, Mr. Satan sir,“ Stark spoke up. “Brucie Bear here is in fact the jolly green giant of ungodly destruction and occasional heroism. Happens if you make him angry, so don’t poke him with any pitchforks and leave him to his weed.”

“Weed? Really?” Lucifer questioned, looking to Bruce hopefully, who frantically shook his head in the negative. Lucifer frowned.

“Bummer.”

“My mind exactly,” Stark pointed out, crossing his legs at the ankle, and placing both arms behind his head, careful with the cast on his right arm. “We know each other, of course,” he stated imperiously with an inappropriately positioned smirk. “It’s oddly nice to see you again, Lucifer – excusing the past several hours and the godda – I mean, freaking alien invasion thing that went on. A giant mess if you ask me, and one scotch on the rocks is _not_ enough to fix _anything.”_

“I honestly couldn’t agree more, darling,” Lucifer nodded sympathetically, having seemingly forgotten about his earlier beef with the billionaire – not unlike Stark’s own apparent disregard for the previous discussion. “I woke up yesterday with two delectable women from Mississippi and a Croatian man with the _wildest_ contortionism in bed I’ve ever seen and ended it with saving humanity from malignant visitors from a portal to outer space and yelling at superheroes in a flying man-made contraption made of questionable materials.”

“Just so you’re aware – I designed this contraption of questionable materials,” Stark pointed out. “And you’re speaking as if you weren’t a part of the team of ‘superheroes’ stopping the invasion, and just conveniently around – I mean, _I called you._ Have you _seen_ the footage?”

“Footage?” Lucifer hummed curiously.

“The footage,” Stark repeated affirmatively, a wide grin on his lips. “JARVIS, fire up the folder named – ah shit, I deleted that one. Whoops. Alright, JARVIS just find us some videos of Lucifer doing his thing in NYC, please.”

“As you say, sir,” another British voice sounded from the conference speakers, causing Fury to glare at Stark stonily, but decidedly saying nothing. Lucifer looked immensely fascinated and leaned forward in his seat.

Soon after, a video popped up on the giant screen and fast-forwarded until suddenly it stopped – at a prime angle to see Lucifer in his whole winged, red-eyed, fire-lance-wielding glory, posed for an attack against the invading enemy.

Silence ensued again, and Lucifer was the one to break it.

“The quality is atrocious,” he critiqued, offended. “Makes me look like some poor fellow being dragged off by an albino condor dosed in rapidly combusting petrol.”

Stark guffawed loudly, slapping the table, but none of the others could really manage to tear their eyes away from the image – Steve included.

It was frankly – divine looking. It looked like an angel doing battle. Which – it was. It looked like Lucifer, the angel – saving people from being crushed by falling debris, probably preventing dozens of deaths – in one still image.

The video promptly unfroze, and the natural movement of the wings and Lucifer’s expert maneuverings could be followed as a string of different camera angles replaced each other to show the angelic character slicing aliens up left and right, careful to control the outcome so the fleeing humans below weren’t hit by the scraps.

It looked terrifying – and incredible.

And it looked like proof.

Steve felt his stomach tie itself into knots.

“Goddamn…” someone muttered, breaking the spell.

Everyone looked to the suit-clad individual at the table as if really seeing him for the first time.

Sensing the attention, Lucifer raised his hand mockingly in greeting.

“I do believe the phrase is – _be not afraid_ – or something to that effect,” he joked, and Steve’s mouth opened slightly.

“You son of a bitch,” Stark cackled, and Thor looked mightily confused. Stark patted him on the back.

“Inside joke, point break. I’ll explain later.”

“It appears that the turn of introductions has finally arrived at me,” Lucifer spoke, looking mightily pleased to be the center of attention, it would seem. Maybe that wasn’t supposed to be so surprising.

“Now that everyone has finally ceased acting like completely unreasonable dunderheads, I might introduce myself properly,” he said as he stood up, spreading his hands and arms to his sides grandly.

“Lucifer Morningstar,” he started, looking to them all. “Lightbringer. Formerly abdicated ruler of Hell – now very much back in business and seeking that wonderful eternal damnation.” The sarcasm was thick enough to chew on. “Archangel of light and _desire_. The second half of the Demiurge, and former member of the angelic host of Heaven,” he listed, his voice leaving absolutely no doubt to the seriousness of his statement.

He sketched a shallow bow and smirked devilishly at the stunned looks around him.

“The Devil. Admittedly _not_ a pleasure to make your official acquaintance, but I suppose what I want rarely seems to matter in the grander scheme of things, so feel free to disregard it entirely at your leisure,” Lucifer sneered pointedly, and the reprimand was as clear as an Alaskan creek.

Steve’s head met his hands in prayer to preserve his denial but maintained nothing of the sort.

Not for the first time since his awakening – Steve felt utterly alone. And this time, it seemed even God had abandoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art time! Again. I know I'm unable to capture Lucifer's face (believe me, I really tried) but despite that, I'm actually pretty surprised about how Thor turned out. This stuff is a work in progress, but I'm gonna keep trying :D Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Already thank you a bunch for reading! It might please some of you to know that I’m only on page 75 out of 173 when it comes to what’ve actually cooked up for this so far. It just... takes a little while to arrange it - but we’ll get there!


	11. Inconclusive Conundrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can still not accurately express just how amazed I am by all the enthusiasm this has received! I'm currently working on my bachelor's project and all the delightful, thoughtful and/or hilarious comments are keeping me writing and motivated to continue - both story and project, honestly. So thank you immensely for that! <3 
> 
> So here's a chapter to signify the end to this part of the story. This is almost (well, entirely) dialogue, but I find it significant in its own way, and was fun to write as well. It's shorter, but the following chapter(s) will commence the next part of the plot - how, oh how, will the rest of the world adapt to this? Not so mention Lucifer and the team? CONSEQUENCES are upon us. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“They’ve... been at it for a while.”

“Hm...”

“Fury doesn’t look very happy.”

“To be fair, Steve – and this is merely an assumption since I haven’t really known him for more than a couple of days, but – have you ever actually seen Fury be... happy?”

“Mildly gruntled, perhaps,” Steve amended, ceding the point. His heel continued its rhythmic tapping against the floor.

“I don’t think Lucifer’s trying to make him happy though.”

“Mhm...” Steve’s face did a funny switch between vague displeasure and a kind of soul-deep pain he couldn’t quite name. Chillingly, it felt familiar enough that the melancholic ache inspired a measure of nostalgia in him.

_Heartache?_

Steve massaged his temples, halting that thought abruptly.

Bruce scratched the side of his cheek as he surveyed the scene, his ever-present concern for once feeling split between them. “I know,” Bruce said, but Steve wasn’t sure which unspoken question the other man was answering. 

Steve had several. It would definitely be nice to know which existentially important question the biochemical engineer seemingly had the answer to. As it stood, Steve wasn’t feeling picky and would settle for simply understanding why God had found it at all appropriate to ban the Devil not only from Heaven but also from Hell.

As if that presented any semblance of sense.

Was making sense even mandatory anymore?

Ever since he woke up, it seemed every rule he’d learned to follow was distressingly optional, if not tossed aside for moral ambiguity completely. In no sense of the word would Steve consider himself either a pious man nor a strict rule follower – or he’d never even dared to approach the military – but he did pride himself in his innate sense of _justice_. Of what was right and wrong and what should be done – and what should be left well enough alone. Be that actions or answers.

Like the confirmation of every fear he’s had since his awakening in this time.

Did… did Steve have a purpose at all? Was he here – alive – simply by _coincidence?_

Steve shook his head of his spiraling thoughts and felt a heavy kind of anxiousness travel from his naval to his chest. He blocked it out firmly – but his restlessness continued unabated.

There were simply too many questions that he suddenly _did not want the answer to,_ and the Devil was _still talking._

“Combine your all-around obstinance with your need to gather a thug squad comprised of what’s inarguably the most bizarre collection of characters in this existence – myself somehow included, Heaven forbid – and you _might_ start to understand my skepticism when it comes to your so-called ‘capability.’” 

“I gathered this group in less than 72 hours,” Fury protested crossly. “Time wasn’t on the menu and I was knee-deep in spacey interference and magical bullshit.”

“And desperate – don’t forget the desperation,” Stark threw in. 

“You’re not included in this discussion, Stark.”

“What happened to _‘Fuck off, Stark?’_ That was way less subtle and makes your one remaining eye shine so prettily with _passion_. I prefer a little straight-forwardness, actually.”

“Can you walk straight forward and out of my line of sight, Stark?” 

Stark grinned and shared his amusement with the Devil, whose expression towards the engineer was undoubtedly and unfathomably _fond._

“No,” Stark said, _unrepentant._ He jabbed a thumb in Lucifer’s direction. “I’m standing here to literally be the Devil’s advocate, so I don’t have to explain to the World Security Council why you didn’t show up for your super-secret clandestine brunch meeting due to being a disgustingly sad pile of ash.” Lucifer rolled his eyes dramatically at what was hopefully Tony’s exaggeration.

“And you know what, I think a little gratefulness would be appropriate – all things considered,” Stark finished, and the possibly evilest being in all of existence nodded along helpfully.

Fury turned around briefly, and from Steve’s point of view, he could see the director plausibly counting down from 10 to maintain his composure. Lucifer’s poorly stifled laughing likely did not help the matter.

“What are your rates, darling? I imagine you don’t come cheap,” Lucifer purred, and _that_ there, was definitely a sexually charged leer and Stark juggled it expertly with an eyebrow waggle and a confident grin to match.

“You’re right. I’m fucking expensive,” Stark confirmed. “Remember Vegas? As I told your grabby-ass self then, this merchandise is priceless and _off-limits_ , so this leasing is graciously pro-bono because I’m such a nice guy and I like not dying in wormholes.”

“You’re assuming, of course, I _wouldn’t_ be able to pay for your services.”

“Did you just call me a whore? You _did._ Yeah, no. That’s the pot calling the kettle scorched to Hell – or something, but let’s ignore that for now because I know you know that was ridiculous,” Stark continued, not sounding offended in the slightest. “You got the Ark of the Covenant hidden away somewhere, stuffed with gold enough to destabilize the economy? Because the destabilization of the economy would definitely be the minimum amount of effort required for whatever you were just innuendo’ing,” Tony laid out, unrealistically, but then paused. He quirked an eyebrow at the Devil – faintly wary.

“You don’t – _right?”_

Lucifer smirked widely in a non-answer, countenance oozing a complementary kind of superiority that Tony Stark absorbed like a dry sponge in a bucket of water. An effortless dynamic that seemed to deepen the crinkles of Fury’s forehead the longer it went on. Stark’s face did a quick contraction of annoyance.

“Don’t you fucking tell me –!”

“In any case!” Lucifer interrupted, granting the director attention again, and acting as if it was the greatest honor bestowed since the event of his arrival. “Returning to the point – your _capability_ ,” Lucifer reminded, and the voice was void of sympathy. “I’m sure you’re very proud of your little covert operations and whatnots, but I know you aren’t interested in providing such a service to me – so what use _are_ you to me, I wonder?”

“Saving human life isn’t enough, is it?” Fury squinted at him, and Steve agreed.

Lucifer made a noise. “Of course, it mattered to me that human life was so heroically saved. Grateful, surely, or they wouldn’t be crying on the telly so incessantly,” he noted, waving a hand in a complicated gesture. “The heroism isn’t the point of discussion, however – and you know that.”

“I’m aware.”

“Splendid. Which brings me to the issue with which darling Tony aided me not too long ago – “

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Stark casually interrupted the Prince of Darkness. 

“Certainly,” Lucifer returned, not missing a beat, then continuing. “Since you essentially erased all of Tony’s good work and effort, I suppose that is what I’ll be asking – for now. That, and whatever will come of the consequences of your actions.”

“ _My_ actions?!” Fury growled out.

“ _Yes_ ,” Lucifer confirmed condescendingly with a bland grin. “Your actions and your moronic deal, with which I gained _nothing_ but a headache. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been in New York, flapping about like some glorified airborne pest control.”

Stark’s brow furrowed. “Oh, so that’s what we are? Pest control? And here I thought I was a consultant.”

“Stark was the one to propose you to the team!” Fury protested once more, bewilderment integrating poorly with his anger.

“Oh! A consultant!” Lucifer lit up, and only a literal halo could’ve possibly competed. Completely ignoring Fury’s attempt at rationalizing the situation and oddly delighted by the concept, Lucifer looked to Fury anew. “An unlimited allowance and _consultancy_ ,” came the proposal, and the shift in focus gave even Steve whiplash.

“You want to be a consultant as _payment?_ ” Fury asked, nonplussed.

“Being a consultant can be so rewarding – but this is no precinct, I’m aware.” The Devil sighed. “The circumstances are different, but at least you’ll be able to write a title on the cheque, yes?”

Fury glowered at him. Steve was confused. 

“That all, Firefly?” Stark spoke up, raising both eyebrows skeptically. “Some cash and a not-that-fancy position? No giant goat statues dripping heathen blood, or ritualistic virgin sacrifices? Not even his firstborn?”

“Whatever would I use his firstborn for?” 

Stark shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“Anyway - I’m sure I’ll figure out in due course what will be my reward, but until then – yes, I’ll settle for the money, the security, and the description. Thor of the Thunder Thighs has already roped me into joining the marching band – albeit grudgingly – so consider me a consultant and let’s leave it at that for now. I’m sure we’ll think of something, eventually,” Lucifer told the director reassuringly, exhibiting strange and surprising flexibility in circumstances – _that Steve did not envy at all_ – and accompanying it with a beatific smile.

“Alright,” Fury said, his arms crossed, and mouth set in a deep frown born off of many suppressed emotions. “I’ll field your existence with the higher authorities as well as I can – as long as you remain _civil_ and _cooperative_ – give you access to funds for your continued wellbeing, and I’ll even induct you into the Avengers as a consultant – like Stark,” Fury listed tartly. “Now, regarding the tests with Agent Taylor – “

“Ah! Absolutely not. I’m not one of your resident _E. T’s,_ so I will _not_ consent to any experimentation. It would most certainly not be for the good of humanity to know the composition of my feathers – even if there is none at all. If anything, it would be _blasphemous_ ,” Lucifer claimed with a theatrically charged intensity. Fury did not look anywhere near pleased with that but refrained nonetheless from pushing the issue.

“Isn’t being blasphemous your job?” Stark asked glibly.

“Only on occasion,” Lucifer promptly explained. “And I can manage that much myself, thank you very much. I don’t need the help.”

“Pfft. No – I bet you don’t. I’m a bit of a blasphemer myself, actually,” Stark pointed out conversationally, and Lucifer chuckled amicably.

“Oh, you don’t need to tell _me_ that.” And then the fond look was back, and Director Fury looked understandably unsettled to witness its return. Steve and every other SHIELD agent in the vicinity probably shared the sentiment.

Steve once again directed his attention to the table and buried his face into his hands. He felt Bruce awkwardly patting his back and Steve failed to appreciate it.

“Director Fury, sir, “ Agent Hill spoke up. “I suggest we end this meeting. We’ve discussed what we must and there’s still extensive clean-up going on down-town. Additionally, we have a PR nightmare we’ve so-far delegated that really can’t wait any longer. It needs your full attention.” 

Steve didn’t doubt it. Seeing the nightmare unfold in real time was hard enough – he couldn’t even begin to fathom how the people of New York – _the world_ – was doing right now. It was just _too_ _much._

Thor had long since returned to stand vigil over his brother’s now allegedly more clear-minded self, and a glance to Bruce exposed the man’s exhaustion also, punctuated by a small sigh of relief and a firm rub beneath his glasses.

With a grunt, Fury reluctantly acquiesced to Agent Hill’s thinly veiled instruction.

“We can go? Did you hear that, Lucy! The principal said school’s out for the day,” Stark informed the Devil, who turned his head with slow disgust, as if reminded of where he exactly was and therewith unwillingly reminded of its insufficiency.

“Dearie me, has it really already been a whole day in this dreadful place?”

“Yep,” Stark said, looking to the exit ramp longingly, before shooting the Devil a smirk. “Got time for a pick-me-up before we abandon ship? I’ve got a ride incoming as we speak, in fact. Massage chairs, mini-fridge, lava lamp – anything a dimensionally displaced Devil on the loose could possibly want,” Stark tempted.

“Tony, my good fellow,” Lucifer said as Tony met him on the way out of the deck area, slinging an arm around his shoulder loosely. “You have got to be the most reasonable human being I’ve ever encountered. Lead on,” he suggested, the both of them striding out of the room as if the scene wasn’t completely retarded in its entirety.

A moment went by.

“Still in a relationship with Pepper, Lucifer!”

“I am well aware, darling, but I still don’t see why that matters,” Lucifer is heard commenting from the hallway, followed by delighted laughter and more bickering from Stark.

He could feel the combined might of Fury’s and Bruce’s concerned stares burning into his neck, but Steve’s face had returned to the nest of his arms and he intended to stay there for just a little while longer – perhaps hoping somewhere the added time would encourage the universe to finally make sense when he emerged.

-6-6-6-

They ventured to the cafeteria. The journey was brief, involved a short elevator ride with eight _very_ claustrophobic people, as well as a silently laughing philanthropist, and resulted in a hastily vacated eating venue that Lucifer normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in on a bad day in Hell. 

Reluctantly seating himself on an oddly bent piece of metal that might’ve been intended to be a chair, Lucifer exhaled a tightly held breath.

“Wanna tell me what the Hell that was about in there, Big Red?”

“Depends,” Lucifer trailed off as he inspected the drab cafeteria they’d entered. “Is anything in this giant metallic monstrosity even remotely edible?” He thought he could vaguely spy a person obscuring themselves behind the frosted glass at the buffet, and was summarily convinced that, if necessary, he’d be required to serve himself.

Every single person aboard this flying vessel seemed to be aware of his existence, if not his actual identity, and though Lucifer didn’t consider himself _self-conscious_ about that fact, he did feel decidedly _bothered._

For once, Lucifer felt like a _novelty_. It was a strange feeling that he hadn’t quite determined was pleasing or degrading to the extreme. He supposed time and exposure would tell, and unfortunately, he had an _undetermined_ amount of both to look forward to.

With spite, Lucifer silently vowed to himself NOT to make any more deals with any mortal in this universe, as they all seemed preposterously incapable of fulfilling even the most _basic_ of bargains.

 _Well_ , he paused, _– with one exception,_ Lucifer amended in thought, glancing at Tony.

“Nope,” Tony said.

“Absolutely sinful,” Lucifer proclaimed, and he meant it.

“Really?” Tony inquired casually. “The elusive 8th sin. ‘Sad as fuck cooking not permitted.’ I’ll remember that one and sign up for a Vietnamese cuisine course asap.”

Lucifer chuckled and directed a mischievous grin at the other. “But you _indulge_ in sin, don’t you?” Tony Stark’s mouth twitched and the sight only delighted Lucifer more. This mortal, _really._ Even after what must’ve been such a shock – he persevered and maintained his sanity despite it all, and even had the bollocks to quarrel with him so naturally.

Lucifer couldn’t help being unreservedly _impressed_ and did as such _not_ regret retrieving the man from the oppressive nothingness.

“I’m trying to cut back on that a little, actually,” Tony murmured with pursed lips and a sideways glance to the frosted wall. “My career counselor has told me for decades that _excessive sinning_ is bad for my business _and_ my health, and it just so happens that I’ve recently come to agree with her.” The delivery was flippant but did nothing to disguise the sincerity of the words.

A stretched-out silence occupied the area for a while as Tony seemed to mull over another topic of conversation.

“Lucifer, I gotta be honest with you,” Tony started, emulating the professional businessman.

“How daring of you,” Lucifer grinned. “Not that lying would’ve done you any good, of course. I’m me, after all. I’ll find out eventually – I always do.”

“O-kay, that completely unnecessary sinister monologue was just overkill – but _anyway,”_ Tony waved a hand around, and the sudden switch in his expression indicated a rapid change of direction. “– It’s just that I probably insinuated that there was a bar around here, but I know, for a fact, because I _designed_ this fancy-ass carrier, that there’s no such thing. The plan for one was scrapped in the initial requirement report. I just wanted out of there, really. Fury is such a – British slur – ninny? Yes, sure. Let’s go with that.”

A soulful faux sigh of disappointment exited the Devil. “And here I thought you had potential.”

“I _tried,”_ Tony insisted, sounding equally and understandably disappointed.

“Well you didn’t very well try hard enough, now did you? Or we’d have a bar here. By my father, I miss my club,” Lucifer lamented woefully.

“Wait, wait, wait – hold up. A club? You own a club? How did I not know about this? I think this is something I should’ve definitely known about. When did you find time to purchase a freaking club?”

“It’s in the other universe, unfortunately,” Lucifer explained, frustrated. “It was a splendid venue, indeed! Grand piano in the middle of the area for my enjoyment and a long bar with enough alcohol to keep me tipsy for more than a couple of hours.”

“I’m getting the feeling that that last part is more impressive than it sounds.”

Lucifer smiled widely. “It takes a lot to get me drunk – or just very specific circumstances.”

“Uhuh, I remember – but do you think we could return to that other thing real quick? The ‘other universe’ part? I find that very interesting. Like for example, how does one celestial being manage to butch up ‘literally going to hell’ that badly? I would’ve thought – you being _you_ – that Hell occurs pretty frequently. I mean, is it _really_ Thor’s fault you aren’t lounging in either Hell or your fancy-smancy piano bar?”

“I can’t be sure,” Lucifer spoke frankly, _reluctantly_ , “but it’s my working theory that he isn’t blameless. Landing in New Mexico, where he himself caused quite the trouble, speaks of an undeniable connection.” He let out another explosive exhale. “Truthfully, I’ve developed quite the fierce hatred of deserts as of late. Hot, sandy, barren and devoid of, well, anything even remotely useful!”

Tony winced in obvious sympathy and hesitantly patted Lucifer’s shoulder. “I – yes, I couldn’t agree more. Deserts – fucking terrible place, I tell you. Should just flood it all and let it wash away the death lingering in the sand.” He paused, cocking his head at Lucifer suspiciously. _Again._

“The flood?”

“Wet.”

“Huh.”

Lucifer couldn’t help the next bout of laughter from taking over him. He hadn’t laughed so much in what felt like _ages._

-6-6-6-

A little while later saw one Steven Grant Rogers walking into the cafeteria, a complex hesitancy hidden in his eyes and two strong arms folded before him – clearly projecting his discomfort, while also simultaneously appearing confident in his stance. Tony was convinced this power was exclusive to only certain types of beings, as he’d only ever spotted the ability in a god and an angel aside from the captain.

Rogers stopped the second he spotted them, and the grimace that over-took his handsome face was filled so tightly with conundrums that it could fill a trilogy of murder-mystery novels.

Even then – Tony had a guess as to the problem. 

“Don’t you worry about a thing, Pins and Stripes,” Tony addressed in an attempt to be supportive of the captain’s plight. “I’ve got Beelzebub here well in hand.”

“Do you now?” Lucifer implored seductively, which instantly caused Tony to erupt in a blush quite uncharacteristically. Tony noticed the blood rush to his face and covered it with his hand, frustrated beyond words. “Don’t you fucking mojo me, you bastard! I don’t blush – ever. Just ask Pepper.”

“Is that an invitation, darling?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Lucifer, sensing the provocation and refusing to bite. In response, Lucifer raised his hands to signify his innocence. Not buying whatever he was selling, he resorted to a long-suffering huff and willed his red face away. He kindly ignored Rogers’ puzzled expression, who still hadn’t said a word.

Unfortunately for the soldier, it took Lucifer about 2.0 seconds to spot the problem, and the conclusion wiped off the coy expression on his face. Rogers rubbed at his neck, tight-lipped.

“You’re religious, aren’t you?” Lucifer bemoaned, sounding quite frankly unreasonably annoyed by it. “And – what? You want to know whether or not I’m after your souls? Well, I don’t deal in souls – they’re horrible for currency.”

“Because _that’s_ what’s wrong with that whole concept, yep,” Tony interjected. _“Souls,”_ Tony murmured nastily. “ _Irrational.”_

“And certifiably unquantifiable,” Lucifer confirmed seriously.

Steve blinked once.

“…I’m catholic,” Rogers admitted eventually.

“Catholic, huh.” Tony hummed noncommittally. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know Stark,” Steve said then, a sarcastic bite bleeding into his voice. “How’s atheism working out for you?” Steve snarked.

“…Touché,” Tony allowed. “And not too shabby, actually. Satan here doesn’t really inspire much faith in the big guy, if you hadn’t noticed, so I’m currently dealing with one crisis at a time.”

“You’ll be waiting for quite a while, darling. My father won’t be greeting you any time soon,” Lucifer told him with easy carelessness.

“See?” Tony gestured. “I don’t need to believe in anything that isn’t here,” Tony concluded, and the Devil nodded pleasantly in agreement – which was really starting to give Tony quite the power-trip whenever it happened if he had to be honest.

Rogers looked absolutely confounded. “So, you’re going to _lie_ to yourself?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony confirmed strongly, unashamed, and genuine to the bone.

Letting out a sound of confused exasperation, the tiredness in the man’s eyes made a valiant comeback – a battle that Captain America was clearly losing. Rogers looked beseechingly to Lucifer.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Lucifer squinted. “Bother me how?”

“That Stark doesn’t _believe_?”

“He believes plenty enough, I think.” Lucifer waved him off.

Rogers directed a vaguely frustrated stare at the Devil, and Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “What’s that face for? You’re going to reprimand _me_ for encouraging atheism, are you?” he challenged, hands referring to himself and around him. “Why on Earth would I?

“A bunch of humans openly defying my Father, the existence of my siblings, and every sin I’ve ever been accused of committing? While also simultaneously capable of taking responsibility for their _own_ piss-poor behavior, _as well_ as their good deeds? My courageous captain – I endorse no people more than the atheists.” And with the proclamation, Tony clapped his hands.

“Well, there you have it, Cap,” Tony grinned. “Satan seal of approval.” Whatever that counted for, these days.

The worst part of being Steve Rogers at that moment was probably having to acknowledge just how much sense Lucifer made with that statement – and more than likely being unfairly unhappy about it. Tony prophesied that the catholic man wouldn’t be alone in overcoming that particular obstacle in the weeks to come but he couldn’t really summon any additional sympathy either.

Steve started pacing, and after one last, fractured glance at the Devil, left the area once more.

Tony wasn’t completely sure what his next step was, but whatever the case – he really did owe Lucifer something for saving him, and not even a pesky little denial of his budding agnosticism would keep him from providing the guy with a drink. 

Now, if only he knew how to explain to Pepper why the Devil himself deserved a guestroom in the tower, he would be set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I will definitely appreciate constructive criticism, if you have any to offer :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you again in the next installment.


	12. An Annoying Lack of Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween - in advance! 
> 
> So my project is going meh, but what can you do. I'm occupying myself with this whenever I'm frustrated enough.
> 
> THANK YOU again for all those amazing comments, and also for the few corrections and suggestions I received. Always helpful. :D And the story reached 20K hits! I'm amazed, honestly. 
> 
> This chapter is... honestly also pretty dialogue-heavy, but c'mon. More plot is revealed. I'm going at a pace I'm comfortable with, at least?
> 
> To comment on another thing, plot-wise. The next (maybe slightly long?) while is going to be an interim character-development/original plot part, which will eventually move into the beginning of Iron Man 3, but I really really REALLY have some stuff I want to write first before I get to that, so I'm sorry if anyone will become impatient with it all. I promise though that there's drama and a bucket-load of humor! 
> 
> I'mma stop being apologetic now and let you get on with the next part. :) Enjoy! <3

“The literal Devil, Tony.”

“Pepper-“

“The literal. Devil.”

“Charmed,” the literal Devil greeted.

“Likewise,” Pepper returned instantly. “The LITERAL Devil,” she stressed again while pointing a polished fingernail at the politely seated Lucifer. Tony opened and closed his mouth for several seconds, searching for a viable defense, but came up with nothing worthwhile that didn’t _still_ make him look like the optimal poster boy for degeneracy.

“He’s really a pretty decent guy,” he decided on.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Pepper said then, shaking her head. “You’ve got to be a _saint_ to just show up when randomly called to help fight an _alien invasion_ out of the blue _._ Never mind willingly giving up every ounce of privacy and anonymity for the sake of urgency – not to mention having the _divine_ _patience_ to deal with your unapologetic chaotic energy on top of it all and _still_ decide to save you from certain death in outer space,” she ranted, exhibiting absolutely zero concerns about Lucifer occupying her favorite kitchen chair – as if that kind of thing happened on the regular and wasn’t even remotely remarkable anymore.

Lucifer himself looked to the side, hiding what Tony absolutely knew was an abashed expression because no way in HELL did Lucifer do any of that to be _saintly_ of all things and he _knew it._

Pepper’s existential crisis had apparently started and subsided somewhere on the plane there, and silently, Tony decided that was probably a good thing. Though how she’d concluded that _Tony_ was the chaotic element in this particular equation was quite frankly beyond him.

That was SATAN sitting by the kitchen island, and still, he was the bad influence? _Really?_

“Oh yes, I’ve been terribly hassled,” Lucifer agreed, nodding solemnly. Tony would’ve called out the lie if Lucifer did that thing, but he didn’t, _damnit._

“Yeah, wouldn’t wanna hassle Satan, now, would we?” Tony grumbled, unnoticed.

The next few minutes was similarly spent ignoring him, as Pepper thanked Lucifer for likely saving his life, for helping combat the Chitauri – as well as thoroughly reassuring him that she didn’t mind his presence at all, and that she would make sure he had everything he needed while he stayed there, which _he apparently could do for as long as he wanted._

Which, okay, was sort of fair. He’d already assigned the guy a whole floor of his own, as he doubted anyone was up for sharing the space with the Lord of the Eternally Fucked. Which was, again, _fair_.

“Alright,” Lucifer spoke for the fifth time, desperately. “Please, stop thanking me,” the devil begged of his girlfriend, who finally calmed down from her profusely intense insistence on expressing her gratitude. Tony suppressed a smile.

Lucifer composed himself. “Save your gratitude for Thanksgiving, my dear. That’s the only appropriate place for so much superfluous appreciation,” he remarked and continued with an airy sigh. “Though, if you happen to _insist_ , then I certainly wouldn’t say no to a bath. Throw in a couple of scented candles, why don’t you. A bed as well, most definitely – Tony promised me a fairly large one, and– “ he stopped abruptly.

Bringing his right hand closer to his face, he directed two offended eyes at his fingernails. “And a _manicure_ , for Heaven’s sake – why hasn’t anybody told me my fingernails were suffering so horrendously?! This is a _travesty_. War is literal Hell on my cuticles,” he honest-to-God cried, scandalized, apparently, on his own behalf.

Tony could not believe how very upset Lucifer sounded – and he looked the part too, the longer the vain-ass feather duster investigated his hands, turning them this way and that like a frantic macarena.

“A manicure,” Pepper repeated dumbly. “Sure – okay. Yes,” she managed to articulate, bemused, and looking more than slightly surprised. Her eyes widened dramatically. “Actually _yes_ ,” she emphasized as if Lucifer had graciously provided the ending to every self-help book in existence.

Resolutely looping her arm around Lucifer’s, she started dragging him towards the elevator. “There’s a salon on the 14th floor, and I can have it open in approximately 15 minutes. JARVIS?”

“The manicurist has already been called, miss Potts. And may I recommend a latte macchiato from the café on the same floor to be delivered?”

“Hazelnut?”

“Certainly.”

Pure relief shone in the eyes of the woman. “That would be simply perfect, thank you, JARVIS.”

Unable to form a coherent objection to whatever-the-fuck was suddenly happening, Tony noticed through his nonplussed state of confusion that the Devil’s eyes roamed the ceiling with surprise for several moments before he let himself be shepherded to the elevator. 

“And a coffee mazagran for me, if you please, JARVIS,” Lucifer felt he had the authority to order

“Of course, sir. Portuguese or Algerian?” Tony’s traitorous AI complied.

“Austrian.”

“As you say, sir.”

Lucifer grinned in a random direction gleefully, exclaimed thankfulness, and then looked down to the much shorter woman at his side as they entered the elevator.

“After you, my dear,” Lucifer said with flamboyant enthusiasm only achieved through a genuine desire for personal grooming, to which Pepper smiled indulgently. The smile that was aimed at Pepper in turn should’ve made Tony concerned, and yet – Pepper clearly needed this.

Even if _this_ turned out to be a manicure appointment with Satan.

Tony would _deal_ , and at least _attempt_ not to record the entire thing for blackmail purposes later.

A task he failed successfully.

-6-6-6-

Reentering the conference room was like approaching an empty theatre. The ghosts of arguments, heated glares, and nonsense tomfoolery echoed off the walls and served to remind Fury of every niggling headache he’d been suffering since Loki decided to Stargate his unwelcome ass onto the planet.

In the absence of all the noise, a large screen ignited on the wide-set wall and split itself neatly into six individual visuals of people he held no love for.

And after several exceedingly poor decisions made during the recent war – barely any _respect._

His personal, subjective opinion was not quite listed on the agenda for the evening, though if he had an opportunity at all to do so, he intended to voice exactly that.

“Director Fury,” one of the shadowy persons greeted. Fury had but a moment to pretend that wasn’t him, and then turned around to face the screen with all the confidence of a rigid, wooden pole. Acknowledging the fatigue that he felt after a whole day of preparing for this meeting, he let nothing show on his face as his one eye met the representatives of the World Security Council.

“Council members,” he greeted.

“Fury,” another spoke up, addressing him with a tone that bespoke a deep-seated displeasure with his person. “Tell us, kindly – how your organization is handling the situation.” Fury rose an eyebrow, his tone acidic in his response.

“ _’Situation’_ is a very broad term to describe an alien invasion, an outcry of conspiracies from every crackpot, sign-wielding fool standing half-naked and jigging in the street corners, and a global theological crisis the likes that haven’t been imagined since the Spanish Inquisition.”

Fury held his arms behind his back and stared the screen down with bored condescension.

“Excuse me, _kindly_ , that the _situation_ is a little overwhelming at the moment,” he told them cuttingly. “You’ll no doubt be happy to hear, though, that a mitigation strategy is underway.”

The squaring of shoulders and a few leans into high-backed chairs spoke well of the receival of his attitude, but Fury had no fear that they would attempt a threat against his position on this. Everyone was well aware of Fury’s stake. They’d been informed of the circumstances and were merely expressing their own concerns. A valid feeling and reaction – if Fury tended to give two craps about other people’s misgivings on his behalf.

Which he did not.

Graciously pretending that Fury’s sass didn’t actually exist, the council member folded his hands under his chin. “We are to believe that you are adequately equipped to formulate such a strategy, then?” The question was hidden beneath a veneer of apprehension, the veiled insult therein sliding off of him smoothly not unlike lawsuits against Stark Industries HR department.

“The Avenger’s Initiative succeeded in doing as it said it would on paper. Like _I_ said it would. So far, my strategies have shown a fairly effective success rate – which coincidentally hasn’t involved neglecting to inform national leaders of world security threats,” Fury informed the World Security Council with not a hint of subtlety. “The team performed beyond expectations, and had it not been for them, the number of casualties would’ve been a far greater horror – without counting in any occasional nuclear attacks on friendly soil, of course.”

Try as he did not, he could not let that go, and wouldn’t anytime soon. The few shifting heads told him they weren’t unaware of his righteous frustration with their methods, but neither did they feel like soothing it. Fury could easily admit that the council’s decision-making process oftentimes flew right past him.

“It is also why said mitigation strategy involves a seriously hefty amount of _image management_ ,” Fury finished shortly because that needed to be said. It was about 68.3 percent of the plan overall, so far, and his PR team had already filed for reimbursement in advance for mental health reasons – a request that Agent Hill had speedily signed without even consulting him first.

“Image management,” the elderly female council member repeated tartly. “Not containment?”

“Containment was attempted,” Fury informed. 

“And you failed,” she deduced, dissatisfied. “Uncooperative opposition speaks of a hostile attitude.”

Fury pursed his lips briefly before he answered. “It is my informed and professional opinion that Lucifer Morningstar does not hold ill intentions towards the human population.”

A skeptical noise and a cynical huff of disbelief were heard through the connection. “How can you be certain?”

“Easy,” he claimed. “We shot him 278 times. Once by accident.”

A brief, pressed silence failed to muffle the incredulity that followed.

“He proceeded to be mortally offended that we’d shot his jacket to shreds, after which he was nearly punched in the face by Captain Rogers and then threatened with war against the realm of Asgard.”

Fury scowled at the screen. “He was not impressed, to say the least. He then went to take a walk around the perimeter of the Helicarrier’s outer deck, had a couple of smokes, and later went inside to complain about the lack of alcohol aboard the ship.”

A councilmember broke protocol and palmed his face with both hands.

Fury did not give a fuck if the man was tired.

“Having performed a complete one-eighty from menacingly annoyed that he wasn’t getting his way about the Tesseract, to petulantly obnoxious about me not kissing his ass to his satisfaction, he _proclaimed himself_ a consultant of SHIELD, had a snappy theological debate about atheism with Captain Rogers – then subsequently left the premises with Anthony Edward Stark himself to seemingly marvel at a lava lamp.”

A red light signified that a representative desired to speak, but Fury was not fucking done.

“The man has no plan. Whatsoever. He is likely suffering from acute depression – alcoholism and addictions of any kind affecting him no more than any other form of attack on his person. That is to say – mild to moderate irritation – or pleasure, depending on the vice in question,” Fury reported, still relatively pissed that this assumption really couldn’t be proved scientifically, because the guy was irritatingly impenetrable.

“Lucifer Morningstar has the potential to be _extremely_ dangerous – and yet, knowing that the man _cannot lie,_ we also know that he is, as he phrases it, _not allowed to kill humans._ I don’t think we need to discuss who put down that rule,” the director snarled, making the nuisance clear. “Let’s just say that daddy isn’t a hot topic for the Devil,” he commented drily, noting absently that one of the representatives had opted to simply leave their chair and the meeting therewith. The other council members seemed determined to ignore that fact, and Fury graciously allowed it.

“So beyond some unrealistic idea of containment – since locked doors of any mortal kind seems to detest his existence more than even the Vatican city – entertaining the thought of ‘using’ him for anything other than recovery missions, interrogation, or as a _literal shield_ against artillery…” he trailed off to breathe. “It seems his hypothetical usage as a weapon against human-made threats is annulled plainly by _the_ _word of God_ ,” Fury spat distastefully because that part of the report was quite frankly the most ridiculous conclusion to an analysis that he’s ever had to read out loud in his life. And that included what happened to his eye.

“Since we can’t contain him, every possible plan has incorporated simply keeping him appeased enough to not bother being actively antagonistic.” He got a few reluctant nods at that, which Fury was only slightly satisfied with.

“I’ve already had this discussion with the president, seeing as he called this morning quite urgently. He understands the situation and his people are cooperating with mine to determine the wisest course of action.” Fury leveled a weary glare at the screen. “Deportation off-planet will likely not be received well and we so far have no way to enforce it, which is why we’re exploring other avenues. Top of that list remains – image management.”

“Image… management,” was uttered again with such defeat that Fury suspected the man in question had already given up on the whole situation. Fury narrowed his eye, a non-verbal confirmation apparent from his expression.

“This is likely to go poorly,” Fury admitted finally, to which he received several more nods. Unsurprised, he continued. “Morningstar is unpredictable, annoying, and self-obsessed, and the less said about his inexplicable connection to one Tony Stark, the better. It is with some measure of confidence though, that we may rely on his deal with prince Thor, and said rapport he’s developed with Iron Man. With a mutual interest in Earth’s continued well-being, the strategy is set to commence as soon as possible.

Anonymity is out of the question, however,” he added then, and swiftly elaborated. “His identity in San Francisco wasn’t in any way, shape or form inconspicuous to start with, and though we’ve already intercepted, deleted or confiscated every known image, video or post of – or made by – him, his social media managed to explode briefly before they were shot down curtesy of Tony Stark’s AI. Everyone knows he exists, but exactly what he is, is still debated upon.”

And after three days, the debates were only intensifying. It was exhaustive for his whole organization to keep up with – never mind keeping in contact with censorship efforts in every other national news agency in _the world_ besides the US.

“Alright, Director Fury,” another, bespectacled man spoke up, sounding rather angry. “You’ve made your case. Meeting adjourned.”

And it was with that curt, hurried proclamation that the screen turned off and Fury’s attention shifted to his reflection. A brief moment of introspection brought no help to him, and he left the room wondering how the world would change, now that everything between Heaven and Earth, as well as below and beyond, was real and tangible.

For the moment though, he was determined to have dinner, and would therefore worry about unfulfilled bargains and whatever else at a later time.

-6-6-6-

He’d been informed a couple of days after the already infamous debriefing that Dr. Banner had agreed to move into Stark’s tower.

Steve had not been particularly surprised and had even called the man personally to express his honest delight in his new friend staying around instead of resuming his earlier strategy.

From their stilted, yet friendly conversations, Steve suspected that the doctor had been ultimately swayed by promises of camaraderie, modern technologies, and equally modern methods of security, which Steve really couldn’t see any fault in. A man in Bruce’s situation likely saw few chances, and one could forgive him for seizing every opportunity when they waddled upon him.

In truth, Steve had also tentatively agreed to house himself in the tower after receiving the offer. His new apartment had unfortunately not come out of the recent skirmish unscathed, and though he’d accepted with a healthy amount of skepticism… he had not experienced any trouble and had hardly seen anyone else since he moved in.

Everyone had been understandably busy, with Steve similarly spending his days aiding the relief efforts down-town. Living in the tower made commuting to and from the damaged areas much more manageable and helping to find the survivors served to distract him nicely – even if Steve still felt like his world was balancing precariously on the edge of a bread knife, with a heavy ball of pressure still threatening to steal his breath every now and then.

Sometimes, he wondered if Bruce could sympathize.

He shook his head, the steady hum of the private elevator filling the silence.

A week and a half had passed since the invasion.

The media was – to put it frankly – going bat-shit crazy with news articles about superheroes and aliens and _that one angel raining fire on the invaders_ and it seemed unlikely to stop anytime soon.

Having received an explanation about Thor’s status as an alien, who has since gone home with his brother, most news sources speculated shamelessly that the winged hero must’ve also been an alien, which coincidentally _looked_ like an angel, though the vast majority disagreed and said it like it was; an actual angel.

To make matters worse, it only took a few hours for the social butterflies of San Francisco to piece together who the angel was.

Needless to say – from ‘captain America is alive’ to ‘Thor the thunder God is real’ and ‘aliens actually exist’ – people didn’t really handle ‘the Devil walks among us’ any better than the rest.

The general conflict revolved around the contradictory help they received and what they thought they knew about Satan as a character.

But Lucifer did have his supporters – namely the atheists who refused to believe he was the actual deal, and therefore another alien who helped protect them – and the Satanists, whose point of view depended on which branch you asked. Everything from ‘the end is near’ to ‘he is an angel, he is good’ was swung around and nobody could quite agree to anything.

Nevertheless, his public identity was revealed.

Having his photos and social media uncovered, all of his accounts were promptly closed – according to the reporters voicing their frustration in the papers – and the Devil fell off the radar completely.

Until Steve found him cooking in the kitchen.

He was wearing an apron labeled ‘Boss of the Sauce’ and was tossing and turning a weird pan filled with vegetables and noodles in his left hand, while his right poured a generous amount of oil into the mixture. The music in the background was unfamiliar but jazzy and fun, and Steve spent a moment simply taking in the image of Lucifer twirling around.

The Devil hummed under his breath – then caught sight of him. A bright smile promptly lit up his face.

The angel of desire put the giant pan down, wiped his hands off in a small towel, and without any warning imposed the full might of his attention upon an unprepared Steve.

“Well if it isn’t our favorite American idol,” Lucifer grinned at him. “Come to taste a piece of Heaven? I have several suggestions – some of them don’t even involve this wok.”

Steve didn’t know what to answer. He hadn’t come that far yet – still considering the ramifications of Satan in the kitchen. In the tower.

This was not what he’d had in mind when Tony Stark had invited him over for dinner.

“Come now,” Lucifer complained, tidying up his workspace. “I’m aware our first meetings have been slightly erratic, my sincerest apologies, but _please_ do shelf whatever religious hang-ups you have right now. It’s tiresome and besides – I only scare people as a form of punishment after sinning. You seem pretty undeserving at the moment,” Lucifer said, thinking himself reasonable in all likelihood.

“Right – but – I have questions,” Steve tried, and Lucifer honest-to-God pouted at him, before visibly relenting in a very dramatic fashion with his hands in the air and an expression filled with exasperation.

“As you wish. It’s not as if you can’t just consult Google like every other ridiculous mortal on this planet. You all seem to be so sure of what I am because a congregation of stoned men in robes some 2000 years ago decided they wanted to try their hand in seeing who could write the most fantastical tale based on second-hand accounts and what I’m pretty sure is Gabriel’s horrible sense of humor.”

Lucifer stared at him expectantly.

“Well go on then – what do you need to know? God, Jesus, Moses – why doesn’t anyone ever ask me about the dinosaurs?”

“I am going to have to ask about the dinosaurs now,” Tony spoke up, striding into the room much to Lucifer’s obvious enjoyment.

“You were around back then? That’s… about 66 million years ago, give or take, wasn’t it? And I thought Cap was old as shit. You’re old as – oil.”

Lucifer leaned over the countertop and grinned at Tony widely.

“Old as oil, you say? That’s quite the understatement,” he teased, pointing to the still clear blue skies outside the panoramic windows.

“Especially considering that _I lit the sun_ – and most every other star you can see from here.”

He said it like it was a fact, but Steve was left staring blankly again because he knew he couldn’t disprove it. The books he’d been reading spoke of this – _his pastors had preached it_ – but the implications that some of it might actually be true hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

“You’re full of shit,” Tony told him blatantly, arduously, considering who Tony was plainly insulting.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, but the engineer waved off the insinuation. 

“You can’t have ‘lit the sun.’ Science has already covered how stars are made and how they sustain themselves. The math doesn’t support your alleged light show, Lucifer.”

“And you’re so certain of that, are you?” Lucifer purred, and Tony’s face became slightly worried – as if he was dreading having another scientific rug pulled away from beneath him.

“And who do you think came up with that process, hm? Making a star isn’t exactly easy,” Lucifer claimed as if complaining about a challenging craft project of the past. 

“Please stop doing this to me. Especially without proof,” Tony spoke into his hands.

“Hm~?” Lucifer said ominously. “You’re begging for it, darling, I hope you’re aware. It’s a poor idea to tempt the Devil – but exceedingly fun.”

“Bruce is gonna hate this. I already hate this. This is gonna suck.”

“Do not be such a worrywart, you silly electrician. It takes more than a little provocation for me to mess with the established order of the celestial bodies,” the angel dismissed the genius’ anxieties while handing the man a stack of plates.

Tony wrinkled his nose at the insult, miraculously surrendered his frustration, and started preparing the table for six people. Lucifer hummed thoughtfully as he took off his apron.

“I’m aware The Troll and the delectable Pepper will be here, but who’s the extra plate for?” Lucifer asked curiously. “Had you told me we’d have additional guests, I would’ve prepared a more substantial spread.”

“Chill, hot pockets, it’s just gonna be us, Steve here and my buddy Rhodey. I literally can’t fucking wait to see his face when he meets you. It’s gonna be glorious.”

“Treat me like a zoo exhibit, why don’t you? I’ve got no clue why I agreed to move in here. Goodness, gracious.”

“Maybe it had something to do with the fact that your secret is busted, and your fancy-ass San Francisco penthouse is covered in satanic sacrifices and therefore completely unlivable? Also,” Tony added, sipping a glass of water. “I owe you, and you like me enough to stay in this ‘God-awful tower.’”

“It’s horrendous,” Lucifer agreed with himself, and Tony was about to answer when the pointed clicks of high heels echoed from behind them.

“He fired the architectural firm three weeks into the project – annulling all their hard work – because he didn’t think they ‘comprehended what level of awesome he needed to cope in New York,’” a woman spoke up with a smile in her voice.

“Pepper, my light, my honeybee, my little piece of – “

“Good evening, Tony,” Pepper greeted warmly, granting Tony a kiss on the lips, and then moving her gaze to the sizzling pots and pans. 

“I see dinner is well on the way,” She commented, before looking to Lucifer merrily. “Hello, Lucifer.”

“Pepper,” he acknowledged with supernatural charm. “ _Delightful_ to see you again, my dear, and I must say – you’ve got a simply fabulous sense of fashion coordination, darling. You’re _radiant,_ ” he complimented, providing a chaste kiss to her hand in an expert imitation of a 19th-century British aristocrat.

“Why thank you,” Pepper answered brightly. Tony coughed.

“The reaction he got was way better. Sweetheart – do we need to rehearse this? I’m the boyfriend, you’re supposed to –“

“Yes, yes, Tony. I got it,” Pepper laughed, removing her jacket.

Lucifer held out a hand, received the jacket, and folded it neatly before putting it over one of the bar stools. Tony made a noise of protest.

“No mojo’ing my girlfriend, Satan. Off-limits!”

Lucifer simply laughed at him and returned to his cooking, delighted by both Tony’s indignation and Pepper's soft giggles in response to the byplay. Evidently, the CEO of Stark Industries had already been introduced to the angel and got along famously with him.

Deciding that he’d been remiss on his own manners, Steve reached out a hand to the woman. “Steven Rogers, ma’am, a pleasure to meet you,” he introduced with a smile, half an eye still tracking Lucifer.

“Nice to meet you too, Captain. I’ve heard a lot about you, of course.”

“Just Steve, ma’am.”

“Call me Pepper,” she said in turn, shaking his hand.

“Right – with the introductions and Lucifer’s obligatory flirting out of the way we’re only missing my honey bear,” Tony said, bringing his hands together.

“Mr. Rhodes is currently occupying the elevator, Sir. He’ll be here momentarily. Estimated arrival; 45 seconds.”

“Great! Thanks, JARVIS.”

“You’re quite welcome, Sir. Enjoy your evening.”

Lucifer started transferring what looked to be the main dish to a large bowl, absentmindedly slapping Tony’s wandering hand away from his freshly baked bread as he went around putting the last things in order.

While Tony eventually started a small altercation with Pepper and JARVIS about the work that he should’ve done that day, Steve caught Lucifer staring alternately at the ceiling as the AI spoke. Was he confused?

“I think JARVIS is a computer, of sorts,” Steve attempted in good faith, catching Lucifer’s attention. “I don’t really know a lot about computers, so I couldn’t tell you what kind, but he should be very advanced.”

“So I’ve been told,” Lucifer hummed, gaze fixed on fleeting points on the ceiling, before the elevator pinged lightly, alerting Rhodey’s arrival.

“Platypus!”

“Tony!” the man said, embracing Tony hard. _Very_ hard. 

“ _Ugh_ \- Rhodey, gotta breathe buddy,” Tony gasped through the hug.

Rhodey pulled away, inspected Tony thoroughly for a second, before hammering Tony once in the shoulder, prompting an “ouch!” from the billionaire.

The sight made Steve wince unexpectedly.

“I don’t think I deserved that - I flew a nuke into outer space. I deserve respect!”

“Can we not talk about how you risked your life and almost killed yourself in outer space in a suicide mission?” Pepper demanded from the bar.

Tony looked at Rhodey beseechingly.

“She’s still not over that.”

“How the fuck do you expect her to be over that?”

“I’m fine – peachy, really. Fit as a fiddle, or whatever.”

“Tony, for the love of _God,_ ” Rhodey groaned, and Pepper cringed noticeably, the expression unfamiliar on her face.

“Now, now,” Lucifer said, placing the dishes on the dinner table. “There’s really no need to bring Him up. He sure as Hell didn’t fish Tony out of that portal, now did He?” Lucifer questioned idly with a slippery grin.

He walked confidently up to Rhodey and Tony, dark eyes alight with mischief and pride. “I did,” he introduced, shaking the bewildered Colonel’s hand.

Rhodey stared at their hands for the brief second that they were connected, then at Tony in search of what Steve guessed was intellectual support.

“Isn’t he the –“

_“Yes,”_ Tony confirmed gleefully, throwing a spontaneous arm around Lucifer’s shoulder.

“Watch the suit, please, darling – Tedd Baker will thank you,” Lucifer implored with a strained smile, carefully extracting himself from Tony’s halfhearted embrace.

“Unless the firecracker at the bar has changed her mind, in which case, my arms are as wide as my wingspan,” the angel added then, spreading his arms as if to somehow encompass both Tony and Pepper simultaneously. With how ridiculously large Steve remembered Lucifer’s wings to be, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could do exactly that.

Tony paused, then looked to Pepper. The woman shook her head – though it took her a moment. Tony looked like he tried hard not to pout but failed spectacularly.

“Shame,” Lucifer said sadly, hands on his hips, yet seemingly completely unconcerned by the rejection.

“Excuse me,” Rhodey spoke up, attracting Tony and Lucifer’s attention and making their heads turn towards him. “I’ve heard a lot of shit,” he started without preamble, eyes hard.

“I’ve seen the footage. I don’t know what to believe, but some things I do know for sure,” he said looking at Lucifer, gaze suddenly softening. “You pulled my best friend back to us – and you saved a lot of people. Whoever – whatever – you are… just – thank you,” Rhodey said genuinely, placing his hand on Lucifer’s arm.

The Devil stared at the hand for a moment with a slightly confused look in his eyes.

“Right,” Lucifer said in lieu of a proper response to the gratitude. “I’m the Devil,” he apparently felt he had to announce, sounding as if the other man should’ve been _more_ aware of that fact and had failed to react appropriately.

Rhodey snappily removed his hand and Steve couldn’t tell who was more bewildered.

“Uhuh…” the Colonel murmured. “Like – fallen angel, Lucifer? From the bible?”

“Lucifer Morningstar,” Lucifer said, an expectant stare leveled on the dark-skinned man. “And you are Colonel James Rhodes of the US air force, also known as _War Machine_ – of all things.”

“Iron Patriot,” Rhodes corrected faintly.

“Over my dead body.”

“Tony!” Pepper admonished just as the elevator pinged again.

“Dr. Banner has arrived, sir,” JARVIS informed them as said man walked tentatively towards them.

“Thanks, J, wouldn’t have spotted him without you. Amazing job.”

“I aim to please, sir,” the AI spoke with amusement, astounding Steve with the computer’s capability to detect its creator's use of sarcasm.

“Wonderful timing, doc,” Tony greeted the man, prompting a small smile.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Bruce said, then looking at the table with pleasure. “I haven’t had wok since I left Vietnam.”

“Well, I can assure you it’s quite authentic, Doctor!” Lucifer spoke up, unashamedly attracting every shred of attention in the room once more. “I’m an excellent cook, and since I’m moving into this sorry excuse for a Babylonian tower, you’ll have the opportunity to taste my impeccable cuisine for as long as I’m forced to stay here.”

“No one’s forcing you to stay here,” Tony protested.

“I’m aware that I could simply fly back to Vegas, darling, I’m speaking of this bloody universe as a whole.”

“Oh right – forgot about that whole clusterfuck for a second,” Tony admitted. “And what the fuck do you have against my tower?!”

“It’s tacky,” the Devil informed Iron Man.

“It’s awesome!”

“It’s awesomely lacking in style.”

“The fuck it is,” Tony crudely denied, making Pepper sigh and Lucifer smirk.

Tony pointed at the Devil. “You’re just envious that you don’t have a tower.”

“As a matter of fact – I _do_ have a tower. So no, I’m _not_ envious. My club is located in my own rather tall building in LA in my home universe.”

Tony clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “I bet my tower is taller than your tower.”

“Hold up,” Rhodey interrupted before Lucifer’s quite frankly alarming smirk could make way for an even more alarming response.

“You’re allowing this guy to stay in your tower?” the Colonel demanded incredulously.

“If you haven’t noticed, Rhodey, Lucifer’s in a pretty tough spot at the moment. It’s on every other news channel and religious hipster blog. I mean, who knew Satanists were such annoying little shits?”

“I did,” Lucifer said, walking to the chair he’d selected and sat down. “I have a special place in Hell reserved for my so-called ‘worshippers’ who’ve killed or tortured in my name. Lately, I’ve noticed some branches have started incorporating some values I can definitely support, but I’ve got a sinful corridor of cultists who very much regret being ‘Satanists’,” the Devil told them conversationally, making Rhodey gape at him. Steve fiercely empathized.

“You’re serious,” the Colonel half-asked, half-stated.

“Deadly serious,” Lucifer confirmed uncaringly as he arranged his napkin to his exact specifications. “I have absolutely never encouraged or condoned this edgy concept of Satanism that every sort of media since their establishment vilifies on a daily basis. And while we’re at it,” he said, aiming a spoon at the Colonel. “I do not possess people. I do not kill people and I most certainly do not, ever, incite any type of evil. I am not evil, I –“

“ – punish evil,” Tony cut in fast. “We got it – but thanks for repeating yourself. Again.”

“You humans have a ridiculously short memory and no matter how many times I say it, it never seems to stick. Just look at all the silly TV shows, comics, and books depicting me as a bloody goat-satyr abomination! I don’t even _like_ goats. I hate their cheese,” Lucifer complained theatrically, making Tony’s composure collapse completely. The billionaire laughed hysterically as he took the only free seat beside Lucifer, giggling even as he tucked into the wok.

The Devil and Tony continued to babble at each other well into the meal, everyone else watching them intermittently and answering as questions were posed to the table.

Steve wasn’t included very often, but Lucifer’s autopilot flirting occasionally flew in his general direction and forced Steve to stammer through an approximation of a response while maintaining his manners.

The angel was not making it easy.

“That’s not possible,” Bruce said, a limp piece of salad hanging off his fork. “That’s not how dark matter works,” the scientist attempted, but Lucifer merely grinned at him.

“Well, you might be right about that,” the Devil conceded, sipping his glass of wine. “I’ve got no clue what manner of matters my prissy brother employed when he brought about the stuff. I just took what I had to work with and did as I was told. _Created.”_

“Stuff,” Tony groaned, palming his face. “Stuff he said – _created_ ,” he said louder, glaring side-ways at the Devil from between his fingers.

“I refuse to believe a single thing you say until you somehow prove it to me,” Tony decided. “And Brucie agrees with me, don’t you, doc? Satan here says he doesn’t lie, but his explanations are pure BS if you ask me.”

Bruce nodded apologetically, and even Pepper looked forlorn as Lucifer’s expression turned insulted.

“Well excuse me if I don’t create a black hole in the living room area. It’d be a bloody mess – though to be honest, I doubt my Father would care,” Lucifer sighed. “The longer I stay here, the more convinced I am that his omniscience is nowhere near here. I’m afraid I’m your sole source of divine information, and you’re going to have to deal with that.”

“Yeah, I have a couple of questions about that as well. How can this not be your universe, yet you claim to have made it anyway? That is weird, even considering your existence,” Rhodey questioned Lucifer, who leaned back in his seat.

After a moment of consideration, he responded. “Have you ever written a text or made a drawing, scanned it, and then printed it out?” the Devil asked. They nodded silently, and Lucifer continued.

“I recognize my work. I made these stars – I even put them in those exact spots, but it’s not the originals. Not really. Or they might be, and I’ve been displaced more than once, however unlikely that is. That’d be bloody wonderful, wouldn’t it?” he spat sarcastically with a mumbled curse that sounded like ‘fuck you dad.’

“So it’s kinda like that tracing paper?” Pepper asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me?”

“Well –“ the redhead said, thinking. “There’s this kind of paper that seamstresses and artists use, where a special kind of paper with a motif is placed upon fabric or another piece of paper, where if the person traces the motif, the drawing will transfer through the first paper and onto the paper below, leaving a _nearly_ perfect copy.”

“That’s… weirdly accurate,” Lucifer hummed. “As far as I can tell, religion, in general, has taken much the same path as it has in my home universe, yet none of my siblings _or_ my demons are or have been present here. Or recently, in any case. Yet Gabriel has apparently still blessed the lovely Mary with a child and a mortal by the name of Jesus still managed to raise himself from death. It’s suspecting that my Father let this ‘mirror’ universe exist, wherein our presence has been through shades of ourselves instead of actual presences. For whatever purpose, I have no clue.”

Lucifer’s face then turned uncharacteristically sad, a fact that everyone at the table noticed immediately.

“But evidently… not every single miracle got transferred. The mirror is imperfect, and it’s missing some of its most unique characteristics. And I profess that I… miss them,” the Devil admitted, staring at his plate with such a lost expression on his face that Steve felt compelled to reach out to him.

“You… you got someone waiting for you, don’t you? Is that why you want to leave so badly?” he asked tentatively, vaguely crimson eyes meeting his from across the table.

Swallowing his instinctive fear, Steve continued. “I know what that’s like. I… didn’t manage to reach them in time,” Steve said sadly, and Lucifer frowned thoughtfully.

“I hope Thor manages to figure something out with his father soon,” he reassured. “It’s not too late for you. If our universes are a bit like mirrors, then time works the same way, doesn’t it?”

“Time does not, in fact, work like that. Independent on the time relation, however, too much time will have passed regardless,” the Devil denied, frustrated.

“But she’ll be there,” Steve said thickly, and suddenly, he couldn’t quite look anyone in the eyes anymore.

Appearing pained, Lucifer let out an explosive sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Well this is mightily depressing, isn’t it? You’re good at that, Mr. America, I’ve noticed.”

The angel then looked to Tony, whose hand had been held in a tight vice by Pepper during the whole exchange.

“How’s the top of your shelf looking, Tony? I do believe I need another pick-me-up.”

Tony reached down under the table and brought up a noticeably expensive-looking bottle of whiskey. “Can’t reach my top shelf from here, but the underneath of my table is pretty damned good,” the billionaire smirked, Pepper looking admonishingly at her boyfriend, yet resigned in a way only a loving partner could.

“ _Exquisite,”_ the Devil accepted gratefully, swiftly opening the tightly sealed bottle with his bare hands, before pouring generously to both Tony and himself.

He looked to Steve’s glass and then gestured towards it with the bottle.

“Ah, well – I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Steve decided with a small smile, receiving a smile in return as well as a glass filled with way more alcohol than advertised. Tony looked jealous.

Despite his reputation, Steve supposed the Devil really just did his best with what he had. He could relate to him in a way he couldn’t relate to most others – however horrifying that would sound out of context – and in other ways, he couldn’t understand the angel at all.

He took a sip and sighed slightly. He hadn’t had alcohol in 70 years. It was strange.

“Oh _Tony,”_ Lucifer simpered as he downed his glass like an expert alcoholic. “I have a crate of this in my bedroom at LUX. You are officially my favorite human in this preposterous universe,” he declared as he offered a toast, Tony meeting him half-way with a questioning look in his eyes.

“High praise from the Lord of Hell,” he commented with an amused grin, to which Rhodey stared.

“Your favorite human,” the black man said, shaking his head. “Only you, Tony… Only you could make friends with the motherfucking Devil. Jesus Christ.”

Lucifer snorted, preoccupied with placing his utensils in their proper position and promptly refilling his glass yet again.

Tony made a ‘what can you do’ hand gesture and leaned back in his chair, sipping his glass of whiskey responsibly. “What can I say? We click,” he said. “Satan here likes partying, good music, sex, and sarcastic ass-holery–”

“Cheers, mate,” Lucifer laughed.

“– and so do I,” Tony finished as they toasted again.

“Well I suppose one good thing is coming out of it,” Pepper spoke up brightly. “It certainly can’t hurt to be friends with the Devil in order to avoid Hell entirely.”

Rhodey, suddenly looking far more positive, enthusiastically toasted Tony with a grin, but Tony himself looked unsure.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, sweetheart,” he told Pepper, whose expression quickly turned worried, her gaze moving to Lucifer immediately. The woman looked expectant.

Lucifer, who’d pulled out his phone to do… whatever people did on their little handheld devices at all times, looked up when he noticed the waiting stares.

“What?” he asked.

“Is he?” Pepper asked sternly.

“Is who what?” Lucifer demanded. “I’m not a mind-reader, my dear.”

Exasperated and concerned, Pepper leaned forward towards the Devil, whose smile widened at the gesture.

“Is Tony going to Hell?”

“Honeybunch, I don’t think I want to – “

“Oh definitely,” Lucifer said instantaneously – as if it was a foregone conclusion and every single eye at the table widened as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really haven't had the time to draw anything. :(


	13. Guilty Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> I'm sorry it took so long to update. I decided shortly after last time that I wouldn't work on any of my fanfictions before I managed to finish my bachelor project - which I did! It was a stressful, horrible, unnecessarily bothersome process due to all the restrictions and completely unhelpful supervisors that shall not be named, but we did it and so now I can finally post this. I worked intensively from 18th to now to ready this chapter - so MERRY CHRISTMAS! I hope you like it :)
> 
> Thank you for the comments, thank you for the patience, and THANK YOU for inspiring me to keep writing - you are all so lovely <3

_“Hold it,”_ the colonel barked, indignant as he spied Tony’s eyes already filling with twice-be-damned _resignation_ – as if the taxi for Hell was already waiting by the entrance, taxi-meter running wild and just itching to cart him away.

 _“_ No – Just no. Absolutely fucking not,” Rhodey proclaimed, jabbing a finger to the table, and swiping it straight to the engineer. “A hard negative on that, _sir._ Do you even know what this man has been through? What he has done to be _better_? To help mend his mistakes? Does this just not matter at all to you people? Repentance –?! Why has my mother even bothered going to church? What kind of _bullshit_ – “

Pepper held up a hand. Stopping the colonel’s increasingly angrier tirade in its tracks, the sheer efficiency of her hand gesture rivaled that of a field marshal and demanded the same amount of instant obedience. She aimed her narrow, flinty eyes straight at the cosmic entity in their company, and sensing the hostility in the air, Lucifer leaned back and regarded the woman in turn.

She bit her lip, a thought effectively strangled. “Can’t you do something?” she implored with forceful calm, a businesswoman in full swing. “You said that you liked him.”

Lucifer’s whole body was practically _radiating_ how much he did not want to answer these questions with the amount of emotional baggage it contained, but Rhodey couldn’t find it in himself to care about the guy’s discomfort. He _wanted_ to go there, after all. Tony didn’t _deserve_ to go there.

Eventually, their impatience defeated the reluctance of Lucifer, and with an initial growl, the man answered. “I – do _not_ decide who goes to Hell, and who does not,” he spoke. “Need I remind you that I _didn’t_ make the rules?” Derision, again. Rhodey’s heart was beating for his friend.

“How can you not have a say in this? You _claim_ you are the Devil, yet – “

“It’s all automatic really,” the angel explained breezily with but a touch of contempt this time. “It’s to do with your free will, you see. That fancy perk you get for being _mortal_ ,” Lucifer spat distastefully. “You get to decide whether you deserve Hell or not.”

“How does that even work?” Rhodey cut in, nostrils flared. “Nobody wants to go to Hell!”

“Of course, you don’t. Why do you think I _left_?” Lucifer questioned, fingers tightly gripping his phone as he crossed his arms. “The place is horribly tedious. Not quite as boring as Heaven, per se. _Imagine_ the lack of modern entertainment alone and the _drab_ assortment of the company to be had in the place – my siblings for one,” he rambled in example, “though one might ponder – “

“But you’re the ‘adversary,’ right?” Pepper insisted again, interrupting. “What even is the problem? You don’t follow his rules anyway!”

“Pepper,” Tony and Rhodey spoke together, not liking that the usually unflappable woman was getting worked up enough to argue so disjointedly.

“Just – “ Rhodey said, taking a deep breath. “Just – why. Why is Tony going to Hell?”

Lucifer finally put down his phone, closed his eyes with disgruntlement, after which he seemed to consider his options. He then fixed his gaze on Tony alone, who faced him stonily – but with a quiet kind of acceptance.

“You have regrets – don’t you, Tony? Guilt. Things you’ve done that haunts your every waking and dreaming moment. Actions you’ve taken, words you’ve said – people you’ve hurt. You feel that you should be punished, don’t you?” He paused, the Devil letting a small commiserating smile grace his dark features as Tony’s expression confirmed every suspicion. “And so, you shall be,” he deemed.

A small amount of silence took over, every human at the table looking to Tony with morbid curiosity – others, with crushing sadness.

“I do,” Tony admitted resolutely. “You know I’ve done some… pretty shitty things before I became Iron Man. Before Afghanistan.” Tony squeezed Pepper’s hand, which Rhodey guessed shook only because Tony was holding it as tightly as needed.

“When I found out Lucifer was the real deal… I guessed that was where I’d end up,” he sighed with a halting laugh. “I’ve thought about it a lot – and I think it’s pretty unavoidable… so I guess I’ve accepted it. Sort of, at least… it should be a little way off yet, but with this superhero gig, my heart issues, and all the drinking I’ve done – I guess I’ll see you there eventually, Lucifer.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, darling,” Lucifer drawled with an off kind of amusement. “You can still manage to forgive yourself for the sin you’ve committed, as well as the hurt you’ve caused – but you’d be going to Hell regardless for a completely different reason,” Lucifer flippantly disclosed, managing to visibly shock Tony, though not _quite_ enough to silence the man.

“Uh – I’d really hate to ask, but what exactly did I do to piss off God so much that a spot is specifically reserved for me in Hell?” the engineer questioned incredulously, hands splayed palms up on the table, devoid of understanding and practically begging for it. 

Lucifer grinned then with grossly misplaced enthusiasm, making it immediately clear that the angel had been _eagerly_ awaiting the opportunity to share this particular theory of his. “You, my friend, have the _most_ successful god-complex I’ve _ever_ seen. Believe me when I say that I’m quite impressed!” he announced, waving his hand in a complicated manner that might’ve conveyed excessive congratulations on another planet.

Rhodey palmed his face – dreading the conclusion already. Next to him, a silent captain America still balanced a forgotten, fork-full of Vietnamese noodles four inches from his mouth, with the scientist on his other side focusing on said noodles in place of paying too much attention to the unfolding drama.

Tony stammered in protest, but Lucifer continued, steamrolling over the collective confusion of the group with devastating effect.

“Not even Michael has dared to do, or even _suggested_ anything like what _you’ve_ accomplished – surely his feathers would’ve withered! No, you have gone farther than any sentient, man, angel, or demon before you and have _successfully_ executed a god-complex and gotten away with it too!”

“Lucifer,” Tony creaked. “I’m starting to get really uncomfortable over here.”

“You’re going to Hell, of course,” Lucifer continued with the reminder, making the table wince again. “But this is catastrophically interesting news indeed!”

“What did he do?!” Steve was the one to question this time, dropping his noodles onto the plate.

After another thick pause, Lucifer pointed to the ceiling.

-6-6-6-

Tony scrunched up his nose, staring at the ceiling, then looking to Lucifer with an insulted expression.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that my tower is so awful that – “

“No, no, darling!” Lucifer laughed heartily. “Though I’d definitely damn this architectural disaster if I could,” he added, earlier stress evaporated. “No, your ultimate sin is so much worse. The worst, I’d dare say,” he revealed, his grin widening. Lucifer refilled Tony’s empty glass with his own alcohol and looked to the ceiling more intensely – but even more worryingly: with _purpose_ and Tony _did not like that look._

A foreboding feeling crept upon him that he recognized from Las Vegas.

“How are you doing, JARVIS my man?” Lucifer said out loud.

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Morningstar. How may I help you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a tiny enquiry I’d like your thoughts on if you wouldn’t mind indulging me.”

“Certainly, sir. I’m at your disposal.”

Lucifer hummed agreeably. “Do you _like_ Ms. Potts?”

Tony and Rhodey looked to each other, speculations running wild, but Bruce already looked like he was drawing conclusions.

“Very much so, Mr. Morningstar. I have known Ms. Potts for many years and her presence has been most beneficial for Sir.”

“I don’t doubt that. She’s nothing less than a boon to humanity,” Lucifer said conversationally, ignoring the looks.

“But what if she left, JARVIS?”

“My apologies, Mr. Morningstar. I do not believe I have comprehended your question correctly. Do you mean to ask how I would perceive it if Ms. Potts were no longer in the building?”

“Close,” Lucifer admitted. “I was referring to her abandoning Tony and yourself,” he elaborated helpfully.

“I wouldn’t – “ Pepper started to deny, but Lucifer held up a hand to stop her.

“How would you _feel_ – JARVIS? If Ms. Potts left Tony. What if she and Mr. Rhodes _eloped_ and left Tony _alone?”_ he questioned ruthlessly.

When no response was imminent, the foreboding exploded into alarm. This was _not_ how JARVIS’s code worked. The protocol was clear-cut and bent in neon. There was no reason for the AI to be _hesitating_ of all things to answer such an unnecessarily loaded question about a _hypothetical_ scenario.

“JARVIS,” Tony spoke up with a frown. “JARVIS, answer the question,” the engineer demanded, directing what no doubt was a mildly disturbed expression at the nearest camera centered inside the giant clock on the wall.

Another confusing moment went by before the AI answered the question. _Somewhat_.

“That scenario would be quite unfortunate,” JARVIS decided.

“JARVIS…” Tony said severely. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I provided an answer, Sir,” the AI countered. _Argued._

“That bullshit answer didn’t answer the question,” Tony stated uncompromisingly. The AI went silent again.

“For God’s sake JARVIS,” Tony moaned, palming his face.

“Mm, very much so,” Lucifer purred, looking melancholically pleased with himself. “You’re committed the ultimate sin, Tony – doing what only one other being in existence has done before.”

“What did he _do_?” Rhodey demanded again, his friend’s worry intertwined with his exasperation.

“He created a soul,” Lucifer stated. “And that is forbidden. Extremely forbidden. If my Father had been here, I wouldn’t doubt that Tony here would be in Hell already – or completely obliterated. It’s you – Tony, who convinced me _conclusively_ that my father’s metaphorical eyes are directed nowhere near this place. Or we would’ve surely been acquainted before this moment.”

After a few seconds, a groan from the colonel punctuated the statement.

“You cannot be serious.”

The skepticism was met by a pissed-off look of defiance that clearly dared anyone to insinuate a lie. After a brief, severe stare-off, Rhodey took a swig of his glass and banged the tabletop once with his fist.

His best friend then glared at him with _utterly_ unrestrained exasperation. “I fucking knew you had a god-complex. _I knew it_ ,” he complained at him vehemently, making Tony wince.

“Okay… so –,” he started in defense, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes but not quite denying it either. “I did not believe God was real. Really, I mean c’mon? A bearded man in the sky who judges us all and creates little winged cherubs that flutter around and makes virgins pregnant left and right? How the fuck could I have predicted that creating the perfect AI would result in the creation of a soul? How am I supposed to account for something like that?! I’m an engineer, not a priest –!” he explained hotly, looking to the camera again. “JARVIS, why didn’t you tell me you had a soul?!”

“I did not know I had a soul, Sir,” the AI answered.

“How can you not know that you gained a soul?!”

“Did you know you had a soul, Sir?”

Tony fell silent, the air of his frustration deflating. He sighed. “No – souls aren’t supposed to _exist_ _at all.”_

“Since you programmed me, Sir, I am incapable of detecting souls. I have noticed, however, that I’ve become capable of processing data that does not seem to exist in any database on any of my servers. I do not know the source, so I’ve been incapable of analyzing it properly.” His creator sighed again.

“Feelings, J – feelings,” Tony explained softly.

“Feelings are confusing, Sir.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” Tony moaned miserably.

Pepper placed a hand on Tony’s back and attempted to offer some comfort, though her face was wrought with worry.

“I see I might’ve caused some strife,” Lucifer spoke up after a brief moment of reflection – voice devoid of the earlier keenness to share his theories. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you – but you _know_ that I don’t lie. If you ask me a question, I will answer it honestly, as I can do nothing else,” the angel said, standing up from the table.

“I should warn you to not ask me such questions, but you humans rarely take my word for it anyway – so why even bother? Accosting me with senseless drivel has been your modus operandi for centuries, and I’m left dealing with your short-lived existential crisis whenever they happen to present themselves. I must say, however, that this evening has been as _illuminating_ – for everyone involved, I’d garner – as it has been _strenuous_.”

Tony thought the angel looked… sort of emotionally exhausted. As if he was working back mentally to his earlier words and feeling too tired to contemplate his own feelings about them. Which was _sort of_ relatable.

“I shall retire to my floor for the evening,” he said finally. “Thank you again, Tony, for providing me with a place to stay. I assure you; your kindness has not been in vain – even if it _was_ merely to settle a debt.”

Before Tony could protest, the Devil took his plate to the kitchen area and walked towards the elevator. He stopped by the table briefly to nod in their direction and then swept out of the room and into the elevator like a star winking out of existence. 

It only took a moment before Tony Stark managed to fill the occupying silence with his voice.

“Well, that went well,” he said sarcastically. “I think we should do lasagna next. Maybe Mexican? I think wok might be officially ruined for me – which isn’t really fair to the Vietnamese. I don’t think they’re even Christian,” he rambled, pulling his phone out from his pocket to just quickly look that up because distraction was the mother of procrastination and Tony had immediate need of them both.

Pepper exhaled heavily and leaned away from the table with both hands on the surface. “I think this is enough for tonight. For me, in any case. Thanks for coming Bruce, Steve, Rhodey,” she said, standing up as well. She pressed a prolonged kiss to Tony’s cold cheek before leaving the living room towards their shared bedroom. Tony still wasn’t quite sure if he was joining her later…

Looking as freshly confounded as the rest of them, Steve spoke up. “Are you alright?”

Tony managed a small noise of fake indifference. “Hm? Oh, I’m just great. Literally damned, but hey – I created spiritual life from nothing. _Fuck_ God, right? I already got Satan living a couple of floors beneath me. Go all in or go to Hell – or be like me and do both, because why not be as extra as possible?”

Steve shook his head.

“You’re a good man, Stark,” Steve said, and Rhodey nodded immediately in concurrence. The skepticism on his face was probably written with marker on his forehead or something because the men left at the table visibly hardened their resolve.

“He’s right, Tones. As I said, you’ve made mistakes – but you’re working your ass off to make up for them. I’m with you all the way – and you can bet your insomniac ass I’ll go to Hell for you if necessary. Literally, in your case,” he finished with a smirk.

“I don’t know if Airbnb has any offers available in – “

“We’ll figure something out, Tony,” Bruce assured him with a small smile, the man’s perpetual stress lines deeper than usual.

“You’ve helped me a lot since the battle. And you’re helping Lucifer. What are you for being kind to even the _Devil_ , if not a good man at heart?” Steve inspirationally announced.

Mouth hanging slightly ajar, the engineer was left wanting for words.

“You heard him,” Rhodey said sternly. “You can forgive yourself. It might take some time, sure, but you’ve got people around to help you. – And money enough to compensate every therapist from here to Australia,” he added lastly.

“It won’t really make a difference in the end, now will it?”

“You’re Tony Stark,” Steve spoke up again. “You’re likely the smartest man on the planet. You invented a new element. You flew a nuke into space. You befriended the Devil. You’ve crafted souls – quite frankly, Tony,” Steve said resolutely as the man looked to him with so much hope for him that it tore at Tony’s heart.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. You are Iron Man.”

A couple of seconds followed his declaration.

Tony straightened his back and looked back at him purposefully.

“Damn straight I am.”

-6-6-6-

The interior was acceptable.

He’d spent a couple of hours the day prior – because Tony and Pepper were _apparently_ immensely reluctant to allow any guests or contractors access to his floor – removing every single door from their hinges in his apartment _by himself._

Of course, the process had been deemed necessary – though Tony had failed to appreciate the action at the time. In the future, however, as things looked, Lucifer assumed Tony would understand. Right now, though, a pile of high-quality doors was stacked by the elevator, uncertain of its fate and not contributing to the unfinished décor in the slightest.

A frustrated, deep grunt escaped his throat, the stress ball that had been so generously donated by Doctor Banner somehow squeezed even tighter.

He’d be allowed to choose the color scheme himself when it came to the furniture selection. Money was no object it would seem because his experimentally ludicrous suggestions were only met with enthusiastic compliance and further brainstorming on design options. As it so happened, this suited him just fine, so he’d taken to compiling a ‘wish list’ in his spare time – which was _all the time_ – that he more often than not saw automatically realized the morning after. 

Just this morning, in fact, Lucifer had been awoken by the gentle roll of an unfairly clumsy robot depositing an expensive oaken coffee table to the left of the grand piano. The position had been entirely inappropriate, a detail he’d subsequently, _kindly_ chided it for, after which the multi-armed box of innovation dutifully nudged it closer to the sofa. _Brilliant._

Generosity did not cover it – but Lucifer wasn’t fool enough to think it _all_ altruistic. In the end, however much as he felt a certain kind of kinship with the witty billionaire and his steadfast companion – Lucifer was alienated. Isolated.

Still. _Again._ With his ‘blessing,’ yet he still took issue with the quarantine that confined him. _Temporary_ , they’d told him.

Lucifer had long since decided that his existence in this universe was a mockery.

 _He_ didn’t even want to exist here – so how could he blame the humans for assuming the same position? It was utterly ridiculous.

_Why do I care? I am leaving soon enough._

Another tight squeeze of the stress ball followed.

It wasn’t like he cared that humans went to Hell. It was the system that had existed since they were mature enough to sin, and though he’d been… disheartened by the arrival of certain occupants more than others, the process was natural to him. Unsurprising, unremarkable, and utterly predictable.

Lucifer rubbed his brow and leaned his elbow against the leather armrest of his large chair, staring into the muted flatscreen TV that played a rerun of a show he did not recognize or even _liked._

This was all a distraction. Nothing had felt real before the invasion. It had felt like a rerun of his own favorite show, but devoid of any of the usual, beloved characters. He hadn’t _cared._

Tony obviously understood his situation. Blessedly, he was unusually smart for a human man just beginning his forties. Perceptive, intuitive, adaptable.

_Stupidly compassionate, friendly, logical. He held no anger towards me._

And Lucifer understood the issue – sort of. He’d had the discussion before. It was a fruitless mission destined for disappointment.

The Devil frowned, feeling suddenly irrationally cross with everything.

He _really_ hadn’t cared.

The stress ball was flung across the room and bounced against the doorframe to his bedroom.

He _hadn’t._

-6-6-6-

“No.”

It was night – late – probably closer to 3 am than not and Tony hadn’t had a lick of sleep yet. Pepper was thankfully sound asleep and so were most other people at this time who didn’t fill their time tinkering with compact, arc-reactor-fueled thruster mechanics, high-velocity trajectory systems, and AI technology. No grand discoveries had been made, but every individual scratch on the Mark VII had been cataloged, flipped off, and then mitigated in the design plans for Mark VIII.

Which definitely included compatibility with deep space travel because he would not be defeated by _literally_ nothing – _and a ginormous alien army_ , he counterproductively reminded himself.

Procrastination had been a resounding success, overall, and had only resulted in two minor explosions and a busted toenail.

“I do not care,” came from the balcony on his own level. Where no one but Pepper and he was supposed to be.

“Unless you have something in mind to settle your debt that I’d actually find at all satisfying, then I will not even remotely consider helping you again.”

Tony strode towards the open glass doors of his living room, staying silent as Lucifer continued to argue with whomever he was speaking to.

“ _I do not care,”_ the Devil repeated exasperatedly. “This isn’t even my universe! So what if humans here finally receive the truth they’ve been seeking for only-I-know-how-long! About damned time if you ask me,” he grumbled, the sound of traffic barely discernible due to the altitude.

 _“Obviously,”_ the Devil snarked followingly. “I’m currently residing in Tony’s spire of sin – yes, by invitation. I’m not so impolite as to casually invade another’s home on the long-term,” Lucifer explained. A pause. “What? Who do you take me for? A vampire?” he questioned, audibly affronted.

A longer stretch of silence took over, and Tony could smell Lucifer’s cigarettes from here. He stepped closer, staring at Lucifer who was leaning over the railing, watching the nightlife below.

He turned his head slightly as Tony approached, but didn’t acknowledge him further.

“You’re correct,” Lucifer said after a moment, seriously. “I meant what I said. While Thor is away on his Father-be-damned quest to help myself and his tosser of a brother, I will watch over humanity. That was the deal.”

Lucifer let out a sigh, sucking in the rest of his cigarette and promptly lighting the remnants on fire in his fist. Tony had to admit that while mildly terrifying, garbage disposal was probably a non-issue in Hell. 

Gotta stay positive, right Tony?

“So, what do you propose, exactly? I don’t fancy being shot in the face again. It’s highly ineffective but entirely too bothersome, really,” Lucifer criticized. “Mortal weapons don’t work on me. It was decreed by God, as you know, and there are very few exceptions to that. Exceptions that do not exist in this universe, sorry to say.” And he did sound sorry – perplexingly enough.

“If you hadn’t noticed, my Twitter was confiscated,” Lucifer remarked, sending a smirk at Tony, who returned an amused smile of his own.

Lucifer suddenly let out a groan. “If you want a peaceful messenger, Director, then pray to my brother. I’m the Devil,” Lucifer reminded, revealing the person on the other end of the phone. “I punish the guilty. I don’t exactly inspire hope and the betterment of society. You’re going to need one Hell of a blessing to counter millennia of defamatory slander… no, I’ve never seriously attempted before, why would I?”

Tony walked towards Lucifer and leaned back against the railing opposite the view, looking at Lucifer’s facial expressions change as he listened to Director Fury speak.

A vaguely skeptical expression settled on his features, dark eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean ‘alien’? I’m not an alien, and I will not – cannot – pretend to be one. Don’t be absurd,” Lucifer scolded in annoyance.

“I was here before your silly blue planet – I’m _not_ an alien!” Lucifer insisted hotly. “And no, dimensional travel doesn’t count. I made everything in here as well. Yes, it makes sense – of course, I know what I’m talking about. I’m the Devil,” Lucifer said, again. A whine followed the response he received.

“I refuse to discuss religion with you,” Lucifer asserted. “There’s literally nothing to discuss.”

Lucifer made another noise of frustration and thrust the phone at Tony, who grabbed it out of pure surprise. Shocked that he’d been handed something at all, Tony brought the phone to his ear and spoke.

“You’ve reached Tony Stark – he’s currently on a balcony some eleven hundred feet above the raging traffic of NYC with the Devil you’ve left in a tizzy. Want to explain to me what the issue is so I can send him off to bed with a more positive attitude?”

“Stark,” Fury spoke tersely. “We need your help.”

“Funny that,” Tony said. “I distinctly remember being told that I’m ‘unfit to be a member of the Avengers’, which was why I’m still listed as a consultant… completely ignoring the fact that I’m housing two – wait, no, make that _three_ – avengers, paying for their gear upgrades, covering like half the bill for the destruction of midtown New York, financing the propeller reparations of the Helicarrier – oh, and limited the complete fuckery that was the resident Lord of Hell’s social media disaster. But you know what, I’m clearly not helping enough. I’m just a consultant, after all.”

Tony shared a look with Lucifer and the Devil rolled his eyes at him, grinning mischievously at the billionaire. “So, tell me Director – what more can I do to pull my weight around here?”

Fury let out a long sigh of frustration and Tony’s smirk widened at the reaction. “We’ve done what we can to keep panic from the masses, but the fact of the matter is – it’s not enough. Every news station and influencer are contradicting each other, and no Avenger except Rogers has made any appearances since the invasion. Trust in the media is failing. The people need reassurance that – “

“– that big bad Lucifer isn’t gonna start the second coming of Dante’s Inferno? If you hadn’t noticed, Nick, Lucifer isn’t the bad guy here.”

“I’m aware,” Fury stated, surprisingly convincing. “And while I’m not _exactly_ doubting his sincerity, Lucifer has not exhibited any regard towards humanity safe for keeping us alive. He’s disregarded the consequences of his showing himself so blatantly – “

“It was an emergency, and I did warn you – “

“I know!” Fury cut in angrily. “That’s on me. But you need to do something about this situation, Stark. Lucifer doesn’t seem to care that humanity is descending into chaos around him. He claims this universe can ‘handle an absurd amount of divinity’ and that _my_ concerns don’t concern him, but they do. If he’s to stay here and keep to his deal with Thor, then the people need an explanation.”

Tony could not comprehend why he was being handed this responsibility. For that matter, he didn’t understand why he was standing around, having this discussion in the middle of the night with a guy who really shouldn’t even be on his floor.

“Lucifer doesn’t lie,” Tony said instead, matter-of-factly, and Lucifer let out a laugh as Fury hissed at him through the phone.

“I fucking know,” Fury said, and Tony could about picture the veins on his forehead. “I’m not asking for lies, I’m asking for a solution.”

“What do you want me to do, Fury?” Tony asked tiredly. “It’s 3 am. I’ve had no sleep; my head is imitating the ringing of Notre Dame and I’m looking forward to another night of delightful nightmares. Can I hang up now, or do you have anything for me? The Devil’s looking over my shoulder, so better be snappy, Captain Eyepatch.”

“A press conference.”

“A what now?”

“A press conference,” Fury repeated sternly. “Make a statement, Stark. You’re good at that.” And then the asshole hung up, leaving Tony to stare at the phone with mild bewilderment.

“He rather reminds me of a very crude version of my older brother Amenadiel,” Lucifer said. “My brother doesn’t like to swear – believe me, it takes quite the fuck-up – and he likes regaling me of my failings. About how horrible I’m conducting myself as an _angel_ ,” Lucifer scoffed. “It’s _unreasonable_.”

“Yeah, sure… sounds about right. Though I imagine your brother, who I’m assuming is an _angel of the Lord,_ would dress in less leather and more… loose white cloth and threadbare sandals? Or does every angel get that fancy low-effort get-up you wore during the invasion?”

Lucifer laughed lightly, though the sound was hollow. “My brother dresses as a human now, but he rather liked his robes,” Lucifer hummed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but – I miss him.”

“Eh,” Tony articulated awkwardly, placing a hand tentatively on the Devil’s back. “We’ll figure something out, Big Red. Though I’m sorry to say that I’ve got no clue where to look for the staircase to Heaven,” Tony apologized, earning another Lucifer-patented grin.

“Aside from that – Fury wants me – us – to somehow convince people that you’re ‘friendly’ and that’s a whole other kind of issue that a 3 am heart-to-heart isn’t going to help whatsoever. Got any ideas?”

“I don’t give a damn how you humans have chosen to interpret my presence. It’s always been ‘bringer of evil’ and ‘eternal damnation’ with the lot of you. What difference will it make if I show up and attempt to explain myself? No one ever really believes me, though I’ve never hidden who and what I am.”

“Have you tried to just… talk about it?”

“Of course. I told them I was the Devil and a lot of women got burnt at the stake for my efforts, not to mention that a band of unorthodox Christians got it into their heads that self-flogging was in _any way at all_ a good idea. The sheer _stupidity_ of humanity manages to astound me again and again,” Lucifer complained, bizarrely amazed.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Lucifer,” Tony groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Here’s an idea – maybe telling Christians during the 17th century that you’re Satan wasn’t the way to go about it? How about we try something a little more conventional? Like that press conference thing Fury talked about,” Tony proposed, looking to Lucifer who didn’t seem particularly convinced.

“You people want to literally broadcast my presence?” The question sounded like a statement proclaiming Tony a raging moron.

The feeling was mutual.

“I mean… the cat is out of the bag. It was a shitty bag to start with. And if it wasn’t already, next time you step outside this tower and talk to literally anybody, you’re gonna let it out as soon as you open your mouth. In my opinion,” Tony said, pausing. “It’s the only thing we _can_ do at this point – besides ignoring the problem, and we’ve done that already.”

“I see,” Lucifer hummed in discontent. “And this has nothing to do with the media currently attempting to portray you as some sort of satanic messiah? I can’t imagine Stark Industries isn’t experiencing some sort of backlash due to our connection, dear Tony. It is not that I regret saving you, farthest from it, but surely this association and my reputation isn’t doing you much good.”

Tony let out a sigh. Lucifer wasn’t wrong. “They can hardly throw me in prison for being friends with you – but people can definitely boycott my products, that’s for sure. I suppose… yes, this is also for myself, but you saved my life Lucifer. Wouldn’t it be a damned shame if all your hard work amounted to me being strung up by my thumbs?” Tony smirked in morbid amusement and Lucifer returned it, only twice as wide and with double the danger.

“You’re quite right!” Lucifer agreed immediately. “I can’t very well let you be crucified so suddenly after all we’ve been through. It’d be such an unbefitting end to this story.”

“Positively unholy,” Tony nodded seriously, and Lucifer concurred.

“Very well then,” Lucifer said, and Tony turned his head towards the Devil. “Do what you must. I will show up and… speak to the humans. I have no faith that this will end well, but surely I will have managed to do _something_ for the betterment of the situation.”

“Awesome,” Tony decided, clapping his hands, and pointing towards the living room.

“Now get off my floor.”

Lucifer let out a laugh, took a step back, released his wings in a sudden explosion of feathers and light, and promptly disappeared on the spot, nearly causing Tony a combined heart and anxiety attack.

“You feathered _fucker,”_ Tony cursed at him, and two floors down, Lucifer’s laughter could be heard through the wind.


	14. Recognizable Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating this waaaaaay over my bedtime. I have important stuff to do early in the morning, but here I am - writing this. I'm gonna regret it 100%.
> 
> This chapter is mostly character development and minor plot progression - but also served as practice for me. I'm still learning after all. :D 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS AND BOOKMARKS. This story is getting so much love, and I love sharing it with you <3 
> 
> Onwards!

Thor escorted his wayward brother from the dungeons.

It was the fifth – or perhaps the sixth time he’d done so. The first three attempts at bringing Loki from the dungeons to the throne room had resulted in utter opposition from the sorcerer – acts of magical defiance Thor would prefer to go unmentioned – after which _he_ was tasked with coercing the younger prince in place of the usual guards, who’d started complaining most pathetically.

It would seem the bravery of Asgard’s prison guards were either lacking severely, or the threat of Loki’s ire diminished it to nothing.

Alas, the result was the same, and so Thor – with now minimal keenness – once again dragged his chained brother out of his cell, up the stairs, down the royal hallways, and toward the throne room with next to no fuss.

A process that had now – _perhaps_ _six times_ – brought nothing but apathetic silence and stubborn meditation.

Loki was somehow, according to their mother, too _busy_ for his own trial and was internalizing whatever magic available to him to do _something_. Thor regrettably did not know what.

 _He’s searching for something. He’s looking deep,_ his mother had informed him after the last failure, her patience wearing as thin as a late-winter layer of ice.

Automatically walking along, Loki was silent and looking contemplative this day – which was normal. He was wearing a simple dark brown tunic and black pants provided by the prison guards, with far fewer embellishments than what Thor is sure Loki would’ve preferred. Truly, Thor preferred his usual style, as he presently reminded him of a plucked pheasant.

Thor was sure the Norns never intended for his brother to look so wretched.

No guards, handmaidens, servants, or courtiers spoke a word to either of them, but rarely did any one of them direct an eye at Loki. Thor supposed this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and that it shouldn’t strike him as such, but he’d since come far in his perception of the falsehoods he’d been surrounded by, and now the duplicity and fickleness of his father’s palace appeared more solid to him. Before, he could wave away the implications like smoke before his eyes, ignore the smell and focus on his desires – yet the fire had been looming ever closer in his presence – in his family – and he’d helped stoke it in his ignorance.

For years, the scorching had raged unrepentant.

Thor merely hoped that he wasn’t too late.

“Loki.” It was Frigga, their fair mother, who addressed them first on this new day when they finally stood in the throne room. Her voice carried across the distance like a somber melody, the tragic story heard clearly in the way she uttered the younger prince’s name like a quiet prayer for simpler times.

Thor was certain, however, that his mother knew the reality they stood in far better than any of them, having foreseen it in the weaves of fate.

His name on Frigga’s lips surprisingly brought a small reaction from Loki, but the would-be conqueror said nothing and offered no solace. Sadness permeated his mother’s face, but steel settled quickly as Odin chose to speak for the first time. Loki was finally emerging from his meditations it would seem, and Thor regarded his difficult brother cautiously as their father addressed them.

“My sons,” their father spoke gravely. Thor spied Loki biting his lip.

“Thor,” he addressed specifically. Thor nodded, after which Odin looked to Loki, expression grim, if not as freezing as a Jotun summer. 

“Loki.” Loki slowly moved his gaze to their father, eyes that would’ve normally been expected to be shrewd instead filled with green blankness. Dispirited.

Thor remembered a time where his brother would’ve taken the opportunity to spin one tale or another about the diplomatic necessity of posture, mannerisms, and the use of proper address, to which Thor would’ve merrily ignored the entire spiel in favor of more desirable streams of thought. Like Volstaggs’s new ax grinder or Sif’s remarks against Frandals’s daily failure of manhood.

It would seem one was blind to not only the hidden problems but also to the happiness – discovered only once it was gone.

“You will speak now of your fall, Loki Silvertongue. I will have truth from you.”

“An interesting demand given to a liesmith – or silvertongue, as you said it. Am I simply here to be made a mockery of?” Loki enquired, and Odin seemed expectedly impatient by the commentary.

It was so very _him_ to argue in this manner, and mother looked positively energized to see Loki’s inner brat emerge. Thor felt _tired_.

“You summoned me here, Odin _Allfather_ ,” Loki spat, face settling from the mischievousness into an uncharacteristic frankness that Thor did not expect. “And I intend to speak with you. However – my words will be meaningless unless you listen to and confirm my claims – of which I assure you is possible, if only I’m given one last benefit of the doubt.”

Odin stood and pointed his spear at Loki, who looked uneasy to be aimed at so blatantly by the king’s magical focus. It was without a doubt an action Loki himself was guilty of committing regularly, and Thor was certain the similarities vexed his brother to no end.

After a momentary pause, Odin grumbled. “I see much constraint within you. _Choosing_ to speak, when you had once been determined to evade capture on Midgard and then delaying your trial with your pointless procrastinations… suggests a change has come upon you. And so, I have my first question, Loki – why did you not return to Asgard when you succeeded in escaping the void?”

“I would surely have been arrested,” Loki quipped.

“Please cease your games, Loki,” Frigga pleaded with all seriousness, and Loki saw her sincerity. “We have worried for you. Endlessly. For what felt like ages – unknowing of your fate, and fretful for your safety. I beg of you – we need to know… what befell you, my son?”

Thor failed to conceal his own heartbreak because he had had no idea of the extent of his mother’s distress. Needless to say, Frigga had been only as calm as he himself had been and the days of _nothing_ from Loki had taken their toll on the woman.

A myriad of thoughts and considerations fought wars inside Loki – sharp edges rising and nearly tangible before he let his shoulders fall slightly – settled.

Loki looked from his mother to his father.

“When I – fell, from the Bifrost… I was _retrieved_. Captured.”

Narrowing his eye and exuding pure offense at the very notion, Odin spoke.

“I will have the name of your jailor.”

Loki’s eyebrow twitched. “Had you asked me this freshly returned from the void between worlds, my response would have likely been in the shape of a dagger.”

“Brother,” Thor interjected exasperatedly, but Loki shook his head, rattling his bound hands.

“But the invasion I was charged with came with an unexpected, but oddly welcome consequence – freedom.”

“You could’ve left. Dagger or no dagger.”

“I could not,” Loki denied with cool certainty. “Because I was filled with exorbitant amounts of hate – instilled in me by circumstance, force and torture of spirit, embolden with a mission I falsely undertook to exact revenge I’d thought exhausted when I fell.”

“We would have helped you. You did not have to defame yourself further,” mother insisted.

“Maybe you would have. But I would not have listened. I would not have given you the chance.” Loki rattled his hands again, the golden-metal chains gleaming in the light. He offered a self-suffering smile, and contradictorily said, “but now I am free once more.”

Thor could admit his brother presently confused him.

“You claim to have been forced to invade Midgard,” Odin gathered. “You claim to have been under the control of a being more powerful than you – or simply more fortunate. You claim, therefore, that you had no willful intention of doing harm to Midgard.”

Loki provided a slow, meaningful incline of the head as if he were deservedly uncertain of their father’s opinion on the matter.

Thor took a step forward, one hand placed on his breast and the other gesturing to his brother. “I can provide testimony, father.”

“And I might ask for it,” Odin responded stiffly. “But not yet.”

Thor was not happy to hear this, but a fierce look from his mother had him rescind his earlier step forward. Loki looked suitably frustrated.

“Your brother’s testimony is underway,” Odin stated. “He takes pleasure in speaking. Now, when he has finally decided to share his tale – we shall pass judgment appropriately.”

“My king,” the queen again rebuked firmly with concern, but Odin paid no heed.

“I have spoken,” he announced, then looked to his youngest, rebellious son. “I desire your words, Loki.”

“Not my truth?”

“I shall have your truth,” Odin reasserted.

The earlier bout of frustration seemed back with a vengeance in his brother’s eyes, and the blankness was suddenly nowhere. Even their mother spotted it before it arrived, but Odin seemed unfaced to greet it.

“You would have me regale you with all of which I am – when throughout my life, you had me believe a _lie_? You both praise me and revile me for lying yet demand truth from me when no trust has been provided,” Loki seethed.

“By fluke, your deception is unearthed, and when I demanded answers, I received falsehood. Your plan is to pass judgment onto me, yet I am everything you have made me, and so by judging _me_ , Odin Allfather, you are judging _yourself_.”

Odin said nothing in response to the insult, his expression nonetheless severe.

Loki rattled his chains again and took a step forward. “You have taught me everything – and nothing. I am everything you wanted – that you _took_ – and yet I have always been presented as the lesser of two brothers. You send me to Frigga to cultivate the talents I possess – and then when I see fit to use them, I am ridiculed once more for being exactly as I was made. Even still,” Loki snapped irritably. “Even when I was certain my existence could not have been more of a _mockery;_ I discover that I was never made to fulfill my alluded potential. That the foundations of my existence were _false._ That the love I knew was built on lies. That I was a monster that you kept on a whim to satisfy a conqueror’s need for spoils.”

“Loki,” Thor hissed softly.

“My words were _asked for_ , and he said he would _have them_ ,” Loki reminded tersely. He looked to his stoic father and his morose mother. “Have I spoken falsely?”

“Yes,” Frigga answered promptly, and Loki looked immediately affronted.

“Loki,” Odin addressed instead, old tiredness in his voice masked by a measure of anger.

“No, _father_ ,” Loki hissed. “I am not done speaking,” he reiterated with more volume.

“We shall dispense with the tragedy of my conception,” Loki decided too flippantly. “My fall,” he returned to, and Odin stood with rigid attention and _listened,_ yet Thor doubted Loki noticed the change through his distress.

“I fell off the blasted bridge. I fell for I know not how long. Time was negligible. So was breathing, speaking, and moving. Thoughts felt like they lasted for centuries and pain was ever-present and all-consuming. Cold like I never knew existed for a wretched being like myself penetrated every bit of my still-descending _corpse_ – and then I was pulled unexpectedly from the nether.”

Thor looked at his brother, deeply disturbed.

“I was pulled away to even greater torture at the hands… of the Mad Titan.”

“Thanos,” Odin said darkly. Loki closed his eyes at the mention and continued.

“Thanos restored my broken body by breaking my already fractured mind. He attempted to convince me to join his cause for multi-galactic butchery and used pleasure and torture both to do so. He failed,” Loki ultimately informed them, and truthfully, Thor believed him.

“And so, he brought forth his weapon – the scepter – and informed that I’d been burdened by glorious purpose. And when I finally held the scepter in my hand – I believed him.”

“You were under its influence,” his mother examined. “A powerful sorcerer, such as you are, my son – and yet this weapon took control from you?”

“It did not,” Loki said, once again looking mildly insulted. “I already desired revenge and I was already filled with bitterness – but at no point was my hatred as strong and all-consuming as it was after I received the scepter. Its intent was not to control me – but to fuel, ignite and stoke the fire of wrath in me so I believed calamity and absolute subjugation was the only way for me to end my suffering.”

Loki’s mouth thinned. “Thanos desired the Tesseract and had felt its presence on Midgard keenly for years. He told me to retrieve the cube, and in doing so, I could use his army to seize control over the realm – becoming the king I’d been raised to believe I could be, and in doing so, save the Midgardians from their ignorance.”

“A foolish quest,” Odin deemed, and Loki nodded in agreement.

“It was. That is the first indicator of my sincerity. Having been purged of the imposed wrath inhibiting my thoughts, having admitted to noticing a change in my willingness, and knowing the irregularities in the execution of my invasion – can you not tell that I was neither myself nor entirely at fault for the invasion?”

It was nearly a plea – though the last words had been spoken with predetermined defeat and resignation. It told much of his faith in Odin’s judgment.

To their absolute wonder, however, Odin eventually returned to his throne and nodded pensively.

“Though having not seen this scepter myself, I have heard wind of its existence. Your tale is… plausible,” he deemed, frown deepening. “How did the alleged disease of wrath leave you? What _freed_ you from hatred?”

Appearing more than slightly flummoxed, Loki took a minute to answer after intensely staring at their father as if expecting the king himself to somehow be under the influence of the magical staff all the way from Midgard.

With thoughts gathered, Loki turned hesitant. “That… is perhaps where my story will need the aid of testimony.”

“You cannot explain it yourself?” Odin rumbled with dissatisfaction and mild distrust.

“It is – slightly fantastical.”

“I would have it still,” the king demanded strongly, impatience coloring his words even more so.

Loki sighed and then shared a pointed look with Thor that bespoke a secret need for support. Aid summarily granted, he started.

“An immortal, winged, celestial, warrior king from myth, wielding spears of pure fire and with resistance to my magic, the magic of the scepter, and the firepower of the Chitauri, plucked a feather from his luminescent plumage and aggressively commanded the scepter’s influence to abandon my thoughts – and succeeded.”

The father, mother, and brother stared for a while with what Thor knew to be a shared feeling of bafflement.

“– After which Thor proceeded to fail to uphold his part of a misguidedly concocted bargain, threatened war with Asgard upon a savior of Midgard and my mind both, and then finally made a _new_ deal with this highly offended celestial entity of mighty power – a deal that was _graciously_ accepted and that he is now obligated to fulfill.”

Queen Frigga took a palm to her forehead with a significant _smack_ and looked long-sufferingly to the paintings lining the dome of the throne room, seemingly at a loss for words.

Thor had never felt such embarrassment in his life.

Their father, looking at odds with which part to focus his confusion first, saw immediately his guilt and pressed his forehead to the flat side of Gungnir with his one eye closed in prayer.

The look Thor sent the unashamed Loki, who apparently refused to answer for his blatant misdirection by also admiring the dome’s painting, could’ve curdled a yak’s milk faster than a humid afternoon.

Extraordinarily annoyed and still embarrassed, Thor simply gritted out an affirmative.

“Loki speaks true.”

A small groan exited their father, which did not help matters.

“Thor… why,” Frigga begged.

The golden prince of Asgard determinately stopped himself from shuffling his feet like a chastised youngling.

“The situation was chaotic. The being known as Lucifer had been trapped on Midgard – “

“Which was also Thor’s fault,” Loki added.

“I would not have needed to destroy the Bifrost if not for your actions, brother – “

“Actions that were lawfully mine to commit as temporary king of Asgard – “

“There is nothing lawful about destroying an entire realm – “

“Speaking of lawfulness – has invading a realm like _you_ did Jotunheim cancelled out my _own_ invasion, or did my partial enslavement not provide enough murderous intent to accomplish the deed – “

“Be quiet, children!” Frigga called, looked extremely disappointed. “Thor, please continue. We’ll discuss yours and Loki’s other crimes at a later point.” Thor winced but acquiesced.

“Unable to return to his kingdom due to the apparent dimensional fracture caused by the Bifrost breakage, king Lucifer sought to use the Tesseract to open a portal to his home. However, having been informed of Asgard’s jurisdiction of the cube, the king confronted me and…” Thor trailed off, uncertain how to phrase it. 

“He… persuaded me to inform him of my greatest desire.”

Loki narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Thor’s embarrassment made another return.

“Unbeknownst to myself before I spoke the words, I told king Lucifer that my greatest desire... was the return of my brother. I spoke true.”

Standing listlessly, his brother’s brows furrowed in disbelief… and perhaps some pity.

“And so, king Lucifer, like a whirlwind of desperation, carted me off to Loki, undid the spell, and declared our deal in effect – though I had NOT accepted it!” Thor declared hurriedly in defense, meeting his scandalized brother’s green eyes with furious certainty.

“Loki had been helped, however,” he said, crossing his arms and looking to their embrace. “I could not let king Lucifer suffer when he’d aided the Midgardian heroes and provided us with the chance to mend the rift between us and Loki. Between _myself_ and _my brother_.”

“What would he have you do?” Odin asked.

“He would have me convince you to use the Tesseract to send him home.”

“That is all?”

Loki looked at Thor with a raised eyebrow, which Odin noted and copied _exactly_ to prompt Thor to continue.

“…And perhaps I also demanded of him to protect Midgard in my absence, because I expected my part to be an arduous task.”

“My son,” Odin said, peeved as if he was a merchant disappointed with the quality of silk offered at the market. “You have much to learn.”

“…I know that now. I did not listen before, but I do now. Loki… Loki has shown me my errors, and so have you in my exile. And though my brother’s methods were in bad taste and derailed to unspeakable cruelness – he was correct. I am not ready to be king.”

“No. You are not,” Odin said. “But you will be. Some day.”

Loki’s countenance was tight and emotionless as he listened. Odin shifted his attention to his younger son.

“You, Loki – also have much to learn. And much to _unlearn_.”

Defiance dominated Loki’s visage – but it culminated in a frustrated, curt concurrence – like a king unhappily agreeing to unfavorable trade conditions. Immodest, yet self-aware like Loki hadn’t been for a while, Thor guessed, as he examined his brother’s restraint and rationality reassert itself.

“I believe your tale – to a point. The Bifrost needs to be reconstructed, and you, Thor, will be sent to acquire the aid and materials needed for this to be accomplished as soon as possible. This king you speak of – Lucifer – I know nothing of. I will need to speak with him, but if his only desire is to leave these realms entirely – I see no reason to deny his wish to disappear.”

Thor exhaled a breath of relief.

“I know not where he comes from, and therefore not which method shall see him home – but I imagine he himself, with the power he seemingly possesses, may know more,” the great king theorized. “ _However_ , there is still the matter of your transgressions, Loki – and _Thor_.”

Having come to expect this eventuality, Thor simply nodded as Loki seemed mildly surprised by the occurrence unfolding.

“Thor, for your invasion of Jotunheim – regardless of their subsequent failed invasion aided by Loki – you will leave Asgard with your companions to do as you promised. Gather the means to fix the Bifrost, so your misaligned deal with king Lucifer may be _honorably_ negotiated on more realistic terms, _and now with the support of your king._ ” The rebuke was clear, and Thor bowed his head subserviently.

“And _you,_ Loki – for letting the king of Jotunheim and his guards into the castle, for disrupting your brother’s coronation, for attempting to foolheartedly _kill_ your brother and a town of Midgardians, for nearly destroying the realm of your origin –“ Loki flinched. “– for undertaking an invasion against Midgard while influenced by the Mad Titan – and for not knowing all you should’ve known – I sentence you with an apprenticeship.”

Thor blinked.

“ _What?”_ Loki faltered, mouth floundering at the _audacity_ , no doubt. “To whom?!”

Standing up and looking imperiously down upon his children, he regarded Loki specifically and struck the end of Gungnir once against the plateau of his throne. A wave of magical power erupted – the sound and power reverberating through their bones. Thor did not need his mother’s wide eyes to know that the future had been changed. 

“To _me_.”

-6-6-6-

Signing her named with a professional flourish, Pepper finished the last authentication of her approval for the day and placed the document back into its folder. As she closed the folder and put it aside, she absently stared at it for a little while longer, her thoughts straying from her work.

It’d been a couple of days since that evening. She hadn’t seen horn nor tail of the Devil residing in the tower since then. Several quick messages to both Tony and JARVIS had repeatedly informed her that he was, in fact, still in the tower as they’d agreed – but Pepper couldn’t help feeling like he’d left.

He hadn’t been particularly thrilled with her last they’d talked, to say the least. She’d been too distraught, stressed, and worried about abstract things that she’d continuously pushed aside in favor of tasty lattes and wonderful conversation. She’d neglected to take the situation as serious as she probably _should have_ and had been charmed by a character that she’d gotten to know so quickly that the reality of his occupation had managed to blindside her until it got too close.

She felt foolish and stupidly betrayed – but she also felt that she’d conducted herself exceptionally _poorly_.

Obviously, Lucifer hadn’t helped the situation in the least, wearing shameless glibness like a perfume out of season, but Pepper wasn’t going to excuse her own bad behavior by pointing to a worse example. She was better than this.

And she owed him so much. He saved so many people, losing his anonymity for the sake of upholding the promises he’d made and to provide aid when it was needed the most.

He was an extremely weird character, but ultimately – she’d been unfair to him, she realized.

It was ungrateful.

And Lucifer clearly wasn’t happy – as was evident by his absence at their designated tea break yesterday early afternoon – but neither was Pepper and on top of her own discomfort, she now _worried_ about the _Devil’s_ emotional well-being.

Her and Rhodey’s questioning had surely been unwarranted and unwelcome, and looking back to Lucifer’s reactions, she’d spotted utter disappointment, concealed by a mask of forceful disinterest.

He’d been uncomfortable.

It was, Pepper had since compared, like judging a man for doing his job. A job he didn’t choose. A job that was a sentence, a punishment, if what the stories told her was the case. Tony evidently thought so.

She let out a quiet sigh and tucked a few hairs behind her ear. She was still frustrated with the situation, but Tony had talked to her since. He had plans already – plans for press conferences, panels, interviews, literal propaganda if necessary, and Pepper wasn’t even surprised.

What did surprise her, however, was how much Tony wasn’t dwelling on his situation. She was sort of morbidly amazed by this, and as she furrowed her brow in thought, she resolved herself to – for once – take his example.

The next time she saw him, Pepper was determined to resolve their issues to the best of her capabilities, so they might figure out what they could do for Tony… if there was anything to do at all.

Her ruminations came to a grinding halt when the door to the office was opened without her permission.

“You have guests, Ms. Potts,” JARVIS informed her hastily, and though belated, Pepper appreciated the attempt.

“Thanks, JARVIS…” Pepper grumbled as her highly guarded office space was invaded by – Lucifer, carrying a paper bag and a now recognizable grin.

Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear indeed.

That explained the door, at least.

“Det – _Dearest!”_ Lucifer stumbled over his greeting. “ _Dearest_ Pepper!” he corrected himself hastily. “Wouldn’t want to be too personal, now would we? I’m under strict direction from my benevolent host to somehow limit my charming self in your presence, but I’m sure you can imagine the struggle.”

He didn’t wait to hear her reply and held up his paper bag with a wide smile. “I questioned one of your employees,” he said like this sentence wasn’t at the very least slightly alarming, coming from him. “I’ve been told you fancy Danishes,” he continued. “I was slightly peckish myself, so I had some delivered from what I’ve been informed is a reputable establishment. The kind gentlemen outside your office were hesitant to allow me to enter, but not to worry,” he said, shaking the pastries. “I persuaded them,” he reassured her, holding out the bag.

“Lucifer –“ she attempted, but Lucifer stopped her.

“No need to be cross with them, Pepper dear!” Lucifer asserted, “ – George and Nigel did their job admirably, truly – but I’m _extremely_ persuasive. Ridiculously so, in fact. It’s in my design, you see. You can’t hold it against them,” he told her, ignoring her expression, and walking towards her window.

“Splendid view!” he proclaimed as he tapped the window. “I do believe most of New York’s center can be seen from here and – oh, _hello_ , what is unmistakably a heroin addict sneaking around in the office space to our right-facing skyscraper-neighbor. Let’s hope she doesn’t get caught, the silly girl,” he tsk’ed, folding his arms and shaking his head in fatherly disappointment.

Not a second later, he turned towards her and stared at the yet unopened bag of pastries.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, clearly befuddled. “I’ve been told they’re quite good. Of course – I should’ve considered tasting them beforehand to validate these claims, but I had it on good authority – “

“Lucifer!” Pepper interrupted, standing from her seat.

Lucifer stopped rambling and looked at her expectantly with a lopsided smile and it was then, as she looked at the paper bag in her hand and at Lucifer’s tense shoulders, that Pepper realized that Lucifer was attempting to _make amends._

It for all the world looked like he was doing his best to _apologize_ and looking past his methods of entry – it was honestly very sweet of him and Pepper immediately felt bad, having not yet done anything of the sort herself.

She took a deep breath and let a small smile stretch her lips.

“I’m sorry Lucifer,” she said earnestly, and the Devil furrowed his brows.

“You do... not want the Danishes?” he guessed.

She shook her head. “Thank you for the pastries – I do love Danishes,” she admitted and watched as Lucifer’s shoulders sagged slightly in response.

“I’m apologizing for the way I pressured you a couple of nights ago. It was very poor of me to put you in that spot. I’ve had to make some tough decisions myself, as the CEO of Stark Industries, and some decisions are out of my hands. Sometimes… protocol is protocol, and it must be followed, or I wouldn’t be doing my job right. Like you…“ she trailed off with difficulty, pausing to take a breath. “ – Like you do. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be… burdened with this kind of responsibility that you have, and it wasn’t fair of me to – to make demands like that,” she finished, looking at Lucifer apologetically.

He simply stared at her in silence for a moment, and Pepper had the feeling he was gaging her sincerity.

“It’s… quite alright,” he told her with a light cough. “You are far from the first human to attempt to bargain their or other’s sentence with me. I’m used to people making demands of me – though usually, it’s in terms of deals with mutual interest, you understand,” he rambled slightly, and Pepper couldn’t help letting a sad smile grace her lips as he spoke.

“I would help him if I could – I hope you know,” Lucifer said suddenly, making her blink. “I do quite like Tony. He’s such a free spirit – untethered and a pure and perfect example of the free will of humans. Determination and zeal to spare – admirable, really,” he listed.

“But – you can’t do anything for him.”

“No,” Lucifer told her, and she took another deep breath. “I have brought humans back to life before – pulled screaming and twitching back to earth, but darling,” he said rather gently, gracing her with a serious expression. “Bringing a human back from Hell… is not mercy. The people swiftly lose their marbles when they come top-side – consumed by vengeance, regret, sorrow – anger,” he paused. “And if the body isn’t in optimal condition, a new body must be found. A fresh one,” he informed her, much to her horror.

“So, while I’m capable of pulling your dear Tony from Hell… it wouldn’t do him much good. No, my dear… I have an alternative, but still – I suspect – a rather unsatisfactory solution to alleviate your concerns,” he informed her.

Surprised and more than slightly wary, Pepper sat down in her seat once more and looked to the Lord of Hell. 

“I will pull him from his Hell-loop when the time comes, and he shall at the very least not be tortured in that way. That is assuming he is regretful enough to be caught – in which case I will make sure my demons know not to touch him. That’s the extent of my power, I’m afraid,” he apologized, and Pepper was deathly quiet.

Would days like these become commonplace, she wondered, where she’d be staring flummoxed at a situation and have no clue how to respond to it?

Lucifer’s explanation and reasoning were horrifying to think about and didn’t assuage any of her worries regarding Tony. Honestly, Pepper was convinced her feelings on the subject had abruptly worsened.

She didn’t want Tony to be tortured. He’s been tortured enough, tortured himself enough as it was, and Pepper’s heart broke merely contemplating that Tony wouldn’t have rest even in _death._

_How is that fair?_

“Why did God do this?” she asked quietly after a while.

Lucifer, who’d moved to observe the window again while she thought, didn’t turn his head to look at her as he answered.

“That is the big question,” he said with quiet resentment. “Most people assume I rebelled due to vanity, pride, or selfishness… and while I admit to being guilty of all three of these sins – that is not why I waged a heavenly war,” Lucifer told her.

Pepper suddenly wasn’t sure a human was supposed to hear this and immediately regretted asking.

She could see the reflections of his eyes on the window, two hot embers shining back at her. “He’s cruel – my father,” he spoke – taking about _God_ as a _person_. “And he’s lazy,” he spat, shocking her with his vehemence.

“The sod is an indifferent, infuriating, prideful and worst of all – _deaf_ celestial being with the ego the size of several galaxies and when someone discovers a fault in his designs – he pretends like it’s all a part of his _great plan_!” Lucifer complained, indignant, and Pepper couldn’t believe she was witnessing Satan himself ranting about his hatred of God, in person, like He was the worst dad in the world.

And so horribly _recognizable._

“I mean – look at me,” he said, turning towards her. His eyes were thankfully no longer red, but the Devil looked no less intimidating in his anger. “My power is to draw out the desires of whomever I wish – yet I am supposed to have no desires myself? It’s absurd,” he ranted, suddenly stopping with a long sigh.

Put like that, Pepper had to admit that the Devil _had a point,_ and that realization didn’t do Pepper any favors whatsoever. If nothing, sitting there and managing to empathize with the Devil felt problematically illuminating to her.

 _Effortlessly charming, that one,_ she thought with conflict no-doubt written on her face.

A brief, tense moment passed before Lucifer unceremoniously grabbed the paper bag he’d brought her and pulled out a pastry. Promptly taking a bite and leaving the rest, he folded one arm over his midriff and leaned sulkily against her desk.

Pepper slowly went over the information that’d been dumped on her since the Devil’s entrance, cataloging her feeling on the matter until she felt that she could rationalize the situation. Eventually reaching some approximation of a conclusion, she opened the bag to help herself to a Danish as well, sighing slightly as she stared at it.

It looked delicious.

“I appreciate it, Lucifer,” she said quietly, offering the angel a hesitant smile. “There’s time still… I have faith in Tony,” she informed him.

“ _Faith_ ,” he derided with a scoff, and Pepper’s smile became slightly more real at the theatrics of her present company.

“And thank you for the Danishes, Lucifer – I was getting a little hungry,” she admitted, and Lucifer’s demeanor brightened considerably.

“I will not be acting as your delivery boy in any capacity, my dear, but let me know if you would like to do lunch sometime. Angels are social creatures, you know – and company is much needed when I’m to be detained at this tower like some bloody damsel in distress!” he ranted once more, exasperation and drama oozing off his character in a manner she’d only ever witnessed Tony match before.

Pepper sent a soft smile in the Devil’s direction.

“I would love to,” Pepper answered, and Lucifer nodded graciously, leaving her office shortly after, just as abruptly as he’d entered.

She was left staring at the door in contemplation, and after another couple of hours of phone calls and professional consultations, she could conclude only one thing.

A press conference was _never_ going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no new drawings :( 
> 
> If you could ask Lucifer any questions regarding his job or his history, what would you ask him?


	15. Contagious Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the immense support of this story! It is still unbelievable to me that it has hit 30K+. Also thank you for all the inspirational questions I received for the last chapter. They definitely gave me something to work with!
> 
> This chapter will be initiating a self-concocted plot that'll eventually help me with starting Iron Man 3 in an undetermined amount of chapters. I appreciate the patience. :)
> 
> For those of you who may be curious:
> 
> I passed my bachelor's with the highest grade possible and I have absolutely no clue how I managed that while distracted by fanfiction writing and pandemics crap.
> 
> I'm trying not to question it too much. I don't have time for it. I already started my master's and I have no idea what's going on. :)

“Do not,” he said sharply with a hand off the instrument, “tell me how to play the piano.”

“You’re hitting needless keys and causing a significant disturbance to the premise of the original composition.”

Lucifer turned around on his bench and glared at a random painting to his left, never quite sure where exactly to address his grievances. “It’s called improvisation, you dolt.”

“It is highly incorrect.”

“It is highly _creative_ , you mean,” Lucifer corrected.

“That was not what I meant at all.”

With his hands together and his fists pressed to his lips, Lucifer offered the television a look of bother that hopefully conveyed every ounce of his growing vexation. “Interacting with you, JARVIS, is like a schizophrenic’s worst nightmare, except no amount of medication will rid me of you.”

“I could be wrong – but I do believe I am insulted.”

He scoffed. “Knowing you – and I do believe I’ve come to know you a fair bit with all the time you’ve taken to painstakingly _haunt_ me – you’re in fact _not_ feeling insulted.”

“Is that so?” JARVIS questioned.

“Quite,” Lucifer confirmed in the direction of the kitchen area. “Do you perchance feel the need to gloat?”

“To dwell on one's own success or another's misfortune with smugness or malignant pleasure?”

“Exactly so.”

JARVIS imitated a considerate hum before answering. “You may be correct in this assumption.”

Lucifer nodded sagely. “In which case, you are _not_ feeling insulted, Jar Jar. You are feeling _proud_ of having successfully _annoyed me._ ”

“Ah. I shall catalog this data for future reference.”

“You do that.”

…

A couple of days passed in this manner, as Lucifer was left roaming his quarters while the natives squabbled over his right to be corporeal.

“And so, it’s been quite exhausting, really.”

“Undoubtedly, sir.”

“And then she took her leave, see? No clue where to, and I imagine Mazie being quite cross about it. She liked the lass – with good bloody reason, in my opinion. Completely off the trolley, but the lips on that woman could make an angel sin – speaking from experience, of course.”

“What remarkable skill,” JARVIS commented dutifully.

“Indeed! Repeatedly too. Real efficient, she was. Definitely going to miss her boundless enthusiasm for bar fights and sexual deviancy.” Lucifer let out a soft groan as he stretched his back while lying on his oh-so-comfortable Lawson couch.

“If I’m not mistaken, sir, I seem to recall the two of you having an acquaintance once _prior_ to this incident. Assuming that my reference sources add up, this would have been a new attempt at some type of relationship between the two of you.”

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully, eyes closed as he recalled the woman’s face smiling with hope and endless, unobtainable ideas. “On the money you are, JARVIS. Second attempt of the same type, as it were. Somehow worse than the first one, which I hardly need inform you was a biblical disaster.”

“That would be putting it rather lightly, sir.”

He nodded. “Lighter than an angel feather in a vacuum. And on top of that circus – I left... and that was the end of that,” he stated lazily, throwing his stress ball and catching it again. He grimaced then at the vent of the AC unit. “I really do need to return with haste, however.”

“To Eve?” JARVIS enquired curiously.

“Ah – no. I gathered that she wanted her independence. Gallivanting somewhere exotic is my guess.”

“I see. To Mazikeen then?”

Lucifer sat up and took hold of a glass. He stared at it for a little while. “... Nor she. The demon also desired her independence – got it, flaunted it, and kept it jealously. She does not need me to hold her hand during a heartbreak. She doesn’t have a soul, you see. Nothing to bruise, nothing to hurt. She’ll be fine.”

JARVIS hesitated to respond, which Lucifer had come to understand meant that the soulful computer attempted to correctly categorize his funky, sentimental _data_. The Devil patiently poured himself a drink as his immaterial companion weighed his options.

“Understood, sir,” JARVIS eventually said. “Then – who, or what, are you returning to, if I may ask?”

Lucifer finished his drink speedily.

It was a dangerous question, and the other knew it, hence the hesitancy.

JARVIS evidently thought it was time to test the social limits of nosiness, however – to which Lucifer scowled before he could stop himself. He did not want to explain the searing pain in his chest to his emotionally stunted roommate, and so he instead kept stubbornly silent for several minutes.

“There exists a complex answer to that question.”

Not in the least discouraged, JARVIS promptly responded. “As it happens, sir, my processors were made to solve complex problems resulting in complex answers,” the intangible being said, before continuing. “If I may be so bold, sir – “

Lucifer stood from his seat, poured _yet another_ glass of his liquor from his bar, and gestured slackly at a sculpture of a Buddhist god which Tony had found to be immensely hilarious to sneak into his rooms without his knowledge. “Go right ahead.”

“I am fairly certain – regardless of the apparent convolution of the quandary within – that I will manage to comprehend whatever answer you provide me with.”

Lucifer let out a small laugh. “ _Arrogant_.”

“Confident,” JARVIS countered firmly.

“Presumptuous.”

“I disagree.”

“Respectfully so, I assume?” Lucifer toasted the ceiling lights.

The artificial sound of a pair of glasses meeting in a toast rang through the apartment.

“Obviously,” JARVIS assured him, the bare shadow of amusement felt in his tone, and Lucifer smiled wider to encourage it.

JARVIS got the hint and let it lie, for now.

…

Lucifer eventually wondered out loud if Tony had any clue what Pepper and her board of directors were up to since his swearing off responsibility on the executive level, which he thought a strange decision coming from the scion of a multi-generational firm of such repute. 

“You can ask him if you’d like. It is possible to conduct a phone call,” JARVIS informed him helpfully. “Sir is presently in the workshop connected to the laboratory level.”

“It is 1.45 am,” Lucifer stated, mildly confused.

“You are both being productive,” JARVIS reasoned, and Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the glass cabinet to the left of the bookcase.

“JARVIS, I am currently reading Stark Industries’ domestic investment portfolio,” Lucifer deadpanned, retroactively hating everything about his productivity strategy.

“Sir isn’t sleeping.”

The delivery was factual, but Lucifer got the feeling that JARVIS was privately frustrated by his creator’s state of being, and that ongoing issues were afoot.

Lucifer got the hint.

Biting his cheek and turning another page, Lucifer instead questioned JARVIS on the validity of their waste disposal technology investments into carbon-neutral incineration research. 

Which he had absolutely no clue what was in the slightest.

Undaunted by the prospect of a lengthy lecture, JARVIS commenced an unnecessarily long account on the virtues of carbon-neutrality, global warming mitigation research, as well as Stark Industries’ journey into the clean energy market.

The Devil had certainly not, in any way at all, requested this information – but the electronic twat had evidently not given a damn.

And so, one could perhaps forgive Lucifer for not really caring one way or another, as everything was grey in Hell regardless of Earth’s slow, sorrowful self-destruction.

…

A couple of hours later, with an investment portfolio abandoned somewhere in a corner after a poor throw, the Devil was once again restlessly pacing his rooms. JARVIS had, in fact, done his best to distract him at several points, but one could only recite ludicrous newspaper titles for so long before even the hilarity of the press became tiring.

_I wonder what to expect when I return. Untold horrors could be occurring right at this moment, and I am powerless to stop it. To even know of it,_ he thought, legitimately angry as he accidentally reminded himself of last week’s new attempt at not crashing into New Mexico. 

His reflections were spiraling as ever, and now consistently drugless, nothing was inhibiting their influence.

Ineffectively, JARVIS attempted another Twitter update, but the recitation went sadly unheard as Lucifer continued his pacing.

_Are the demons still following my orders, or are they already spilling back in through the cracks? Has Amenadiel returned to Hell to plug the holes? Has another sibling done so? Do they believe I abandoned them all in their need?_

_Is Chloe alright?_

Was anyone at all taking care of whom he’d willingly retaken his throne to save?!

As much as he didn’t like admitting it – Lucifer was _afraid_ nothing was being done, and the thought alone brought with it a fresh wave of anxious depression that the Devil wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

It had been _months_ now, he bleakly acknowledged, and there was _no_ telling how the time difference correlated.

For the first time in eons, Lucifer felt _truly_ well-removed from salvation. From his only chance to really prove that he could be good.

To do what was truly _right._

His arrival here was therefore a divine _slap in the face_ to every hope he had when he resumed his damned position. 

Lucifer returned his attention briefly to that hour’s drink and noted that it tasted like refined failure and just a dash of elderberry. Not at all unfamiliar to him, so he brought his drink with him and resigned himself to simply staring at the cloudy sky from his jacuzzi-less balcony, illuminated by the nightlife beneath him.

Making a brave attempt at controlling his impulses, he instead concentrated on the bustle, when suddenly – a quiet hum cut through the stillness of his sanctuary and his turmoil both.

Glancing cursively around the balcony yielded no source, so Lucifer moved his gaze back to the view and eventually spotted a faint red dot moving closer to him.

Squinting his eyes and feeling a spark of curiosity ignite within him, Lucifer observed as the floating bright spot of red came even closer until he could make out what he could only guess was an extremely small and very flat, helicopter-like contraption.

The device came closer and Lucifer retreated slightly as it flew to hover a meter in front of him, the light winds of New York jostling its flight capability slightly as its many rotary blades fought to keep it level with his face.

It couldn’t be bigger than the cushions on his recliner.

The red dot kept shining, reminding Lucifer of – a camera.

“Interesting – is this an attempt to gain some unsolicited pictures, perchance? Horrible timing, whoever you are. I haven’t even removed any clothing yet,” he spoke to the flying disc with a grin, now thoroughly distracted from his earlier melancholy.

The disc took a moment, then rotated around itself, making it known to Lucifer that it carried a small note clipped onto a string.

Wasting no time, Lucifer grabbed hold of the string, unclipped the note, and studied the paper.

“Mr. Morningstar, sir,” he heard JARVIS speak from behind him. “I have detected an unidentified, unarmed drone outside of your balcony. I’m sorry to admit that the tower’s anti-drone security protocol is still undergoing repairs for the upper levels and is therefore inactive. Protocols focusing on malicious entities are currently being prioritized. Would you like me to inform Sir of this disturbance?”

“I hardly think that’s necessary, JARVIS,” Lucifer spoke to the AI, flashing the note at the drone. “After all, it’d be horribly rude to decline receiving a message when it was so painstakingly delivered. 85 floors of pure determination, one could say,” he remarked with amusement.

“Very well, sir. However, I will be monitoring the situation,” the AI promised.

Humming in confirmation, Lucifer unfolded the note. He cleared his throat and stared straight into what he assumed was the lens of the camera.

_“Dear Lucifer,”_ he started without preamble. “Very forward of you, I must say,” he sidetracked unashamedly.

_“We are five students from a local high school. We study science and technology, and while some of us are_ hard-core _atheists, others are agnostic and one of us is religious,”_ he continued studiously, pausing once more.

“Good for you,” he commented caustically.

_“We have been working on this drone for three months but didn’t know what to do with it. When the invasion happened, we were doing some test flights on the outskirts of midtown, and practicing using the video feature. BTW we are filming you,”_ he read, regarding the cheeky smiley that followed.

Lucifer paused, raising an eyebrow at the paper. “Might want to lead with that,” he advised to the drone, watching it dip slightly before realigning itself once again. “Tony is pretty particular about his security measures – and I’m fairly certain he’d be quite miffed about a bunch of teenagers acting like a band of flying paparazzi,” he added with a strained smile, perhaps also slightly confused about how this had been allowed to happen at all but grateful for the distraction regardless.

He continued. “ _We have a small video of you where you’re caught flying by during the invasion. It’s pretty bad quality – so our teacher accused us of fabricating the film to get a better grade,”_ he read, letting out a sound of disbelief. “As if my wings could be so easily replicated. Someone’s tried before. Spectacular failure, believe me,” he spoke to the drone with a snooty lilt.

He looked to the paper again.

_“We were fucking pissed,”_ he said, the sentence prompting a grin. _“We were told off by our teacher for ‘promoting the belief that the angel was real,’ as she was convinced that the wings were fake and technological.”_

Ruffled, Lucifer stared at the drone with an insulted expression. “I beg your pardon?” he questioned. “Fake? Certainly not,” he sniffed. “She should be lucky she’s sane enough to appreciate them at all.”

The drone did a small loop, Lucifer following the maneuver with his eyes.

“I’ll take that as an agreement,” he said, looking down to the paper once more.

_“We are looking at a failed grade,”_ he said, furrowing his brows. _“Unless we get some ‘better footage’ of something that_ actually _exists. But we know your wings are real. So – wanna help us out?”_

Signed with a Devil emoji.

Lucifer leaned forward over the railing when he finished reading and smiled widely at the drone, dark eyes alight with mischief, and the note hanging loosely from his fingertips. “Malicious compliance is it?” he questioned with a light laugh. He drank the rest of his drink and smiled pleasantly at his presumed audience.

“I like it.” 

Feeling daring and not wasting much time pondering it, he grabbed hold of the railing and pulled himself up to stand on its edge, maintaining his balance only just so as the wind ruffled his white shirt. The drone dropped slightly, before assuming a slightly frantic back and forth movement, as if to push him back onto the balcony, the urgency in its movements more than slightly hilarious to the Devil.

Holding out his arms to balance himself, Lucifer smiled widely at the drone. “None of that, now. It was _you_ who asked for a demonstration, after all,” he laughed, feeling some of his hair whisking around on his forehead.

Staring directly into the lens, Lucifer held out a hand. “Let’s go on a trip, shall we?”

The drone wasn’t prepared for Lucifer to grab it, but he didn’t really care. He waited for the rotating blades to cease their futile attempts to move and for the teenagers to realize their folly before he secured his grip on it more effectively.

“No worries. I’ll return your little ‘drone’ unharmed. Its flimsy flight capability is hardly what matters, after all,” Lucifer reasoned with an expectant tone, and the drone mercifully stayed stationary in his grip.

Seeing a chance to drown out his never-ending worry, Lucifer promptly disregarded Tony’s earlier _recommendation_ of ‘staying low’ and unfolded his wings to their full capacity, letting out a breathy exhale as the _potential_ to soar rushed through him with a suddenness he hadn’t expected.

Having more or less accepted that his angelic qualities were a part of him, at the very least _biologically_ , he felt no discouragement from engaging in some recreational aviation – and so he prepared himself.

Holding the small drone securely, he looked up briefly – and then forcefully pushed off the balcony with a mighty flap of his wings, the acceleration and sudden velocity causing the glass of the railing to vibrate with the intensity.

Lucifer passed through the clouds almost immediately after set-off, slowing down when the visibility became limited. Another few beat of his wings brought him into a valley of interspersing, puffy dark clouds and sweeping planes of grey, the moon and stars peeking out beyond the horizon – beyond light pollution and ridiculous earthly issues. 

Lucifer flew till he passed the upper limit of the clouds, stopping to calmly fly in place with few well-placed gravity-defying wing strokes to keep him suspended.

Looking into the camera, Lucifer felt excitement fill him for the first time since the invasion.

“Far from heaven,” he commented idly, looking around. “But a gorgeous view to my stars, isn’t it? Personally, I prefer the view from a little further up, but in the interest of your little device here, I’ll stay within the troposphere. You’re welcome,” he told the little red dot that was thankfully still shining.

Would’ve been awfully embarrassing if he’d managed to ruin it on the way up, wouldn’t it?

It was no doubt a genius design, however, and an idea swiftly came to mind.

“You couldn’t possibly get a good shot with me holding you like this,” he said, smiling ominously.

He held the drone in front of him and then – stopped moving his wings.

Falling fast, his wings folded slightly forward as he rapidly descended back-first towards the clouds below.

Placing a hand on the drone, he applied just the tiniest bit of telekinesis and then let go of it, the drone falling a little way out of his immediate reach above him, but now more than likely with a prime view of his whole being falling towards Earth like so many biblical depictions of him.

Truthfully nostalgic in a way that’d previously been very painful, but now only felt like effortless _rebellion._

He purposefully kept the drone and camera angled in his direction and spread his wings _just so_ as he kept up his backward slide into the sea of clouds meeting him with natural welcome.

Laughing loudly with the exhilaration, he made several twists in the air, enjoying the way the wind felt rushing through his feathers and lamenting that he would miss this, sitting on his throne when he finally did manage to return.

The forlorn students couldn’t possibly wish for a better view, he decided, and all in all – Lucifer considered this a job well done and caught the drone again after getting his fill of showing off for the camera.

Eventually landing, Lucifer let the little drone recalibrate and fly off with whatever footage it’d garnered, his sense of adventure satiated for the night.

-6-6-6-

“Lucifer, what have you done.”

“Hm?” the Devil answered with disinterest as he lounged in his red recliner with his phone in his hands, the afternoon rain heard through the open balcony doors.

“JARVIS told me you fucked off last night like an excited canary – wanna explain that? I mean – I’m good. Seriously good – but even I can’t just monopolize the adjacent buildings’ security cameras and not get caught eventually.”

“I desired a different perspective,” Lucifer told Iron Man – and he wasn’t lying. He’d been feeling cooped up, and as much as the high vantage point was desirable, Lucifer wasn’t very good at staying put.

Tony stared at him for a second, his eyes conveying that he sincerely understood the issue – and somehow, Lucifer believed that he did. The man’s heavy exhale denoted the dilemma of the discussion to come. 

“Right – can’t cage the devil. Not that I was trying to!” Tony hurriedly interjected, and Lucifer put his phone away to level an impatient stare at the man.

“We’ve already had this discussion, Mephisto. Until we’ve figured out the clusterfuck with the public, or at least ensured that none of us will be – excuse the expression – _crucified_ because of all this, no one can know you’re here.”

“According to CNN – and most everyone else with a modicum of deductive capability – they’re already suspecting that I am,” Lucifer pointed out cynically, “– and Stark Industries are refraining from commenting on the allegations, more or less confirming that I am – indeed – sequestered in comfort at your leisure,” Lucifer said, smiling in his seat.

“Allegations and non-disclosure are not the same as proof – which they don’t have yet, because _1_ , I’m amazing, and _2_ , you’ve been a nice inter-dimensional celestial being and done what Pepper and I have asked of you.”

“I have, haven’t I?” Lucifer questioned rhetorically, and Tony’s expression turned mildly resigned. 

“I grow bored easily, however,” Lucifer told Tony, and he nodded without prompting. Lucifer continued with an airy hand gesture.

“But – I suppose you’re correct. You’ve been a good chap and allowed me to stay here in your strangely shaped building, and I thank you for that. I shall endeavor to be more careful, but you can hardly expect me to just _sit_ here till the end of days. I’m trying to return to Hell, not recreate it elsewhere.”

“Did you just compare my beautiful-ass tower to _literal_ Hell?”

Lucifer merely grinned unrepentantly at Tony. The man raised his hands in exasperation, then aimed them at the bar. “I’m gonna confiscate the liquor I donated to this cause.”

“Utter blasphemy,” Lucifer gasped, not missing a beat. “You’d deprive the Devil of his sins?”

“You bet your fiery-fine ass I will.”

“And a very fine ass it is indeed,” Lucifer laughed, and Tony smirked roguishly in response, but didn’t rise to the bait.

“No, but seriously,” Tony said then, pointing a decidedly dirty finger at Lucifer. “I’m trying to put together something at the moment, and you getting caught on cameras right now will basically incinerate all my hard effort. So, shelf your Instagram needs for like – 1 week. That’s all I ask, honest,” Tony implored him, and Lucifer felt more than slightly chagrined knowing that he’d already failed spectacularly.

Well, hopefully, that video won’t go any further than an innocent high school assignment.

“I will stay clear of any more cameras,” Lucifer promised. It was the best he could do. The damage had been done, after all.

“Great. Nice. Wonderful,” Tony concluded, straightening his spine. “But your nighttime exploits aren’t actually the main reason for this clandestine visit to the local den of depravity,” the engineer revealed, looking expectant, so Lucifer accepted the hint for what it was and graced the man with his full attention.

“Pray tell, darling – what other _requests_ would you make of me.” It was phrased like a question, but it didn’t quite sound like it and Tony winced slightly, undoubtedly catching the unsubtle reprimand.

“Not a request – no more deals. I’m just feeling exceptionally altruistic.”

“Haven’t you done enough by now?”

“I survive on coffee, cheeseburgers, and pure genius, meaning – couldn’t sleep, so I design armor.”

Turning around to sit sideways on the recliner, Lucifer noticed that Tony brought a small case with him.

“Your old one _did_ seem more than slightly threadbare last I saw it. Not that I profess any knowledge of engineering at all, really. Leo didn’t like sharing his drawings with me,” Lucifer complained, and Tony stopped for a moment.

The engineer leveled a very serious, mildly wide-eyed stare at Lucifer – then shook his head minutely, as if to say ‘don’t go there,’ and placed the case on the coffee table between them.

“Not for me,” Tony said instead, a grin working its way past his momentary mystification. “Not that I haven’t already made, like, a quadrillion notes on that subject,” he admitted, before giving Lucifer a blunt look. “I’m really bad at keeping my mouth shut, so I’m just gonna not even try to put this nicely. So – here goes; whatever you were wearing during the invasion was the stupidest armor I’ve ever laid my eyes on. And I’ve seen people attempting to replicate my designs, and even their poor-ass attempts were better than that shit you were sporting.”

Pursing his lips, Lucifer conceded that Tony had a point. He rather hated it as well, but it was the only blessed equipment he had that were fit for any sort of battle.

“It’s not that I disagree with you, but my Father bestowed me with those garments millennia ago – “

“He did a terrible job.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, but people aren’t taking my word for it!” Lucifer reminded with every drop of exasperation available to him.

Tony palmed his face, then punched in a code on the case and opened it, revealing an amalgamation of dark-silvery, interlocking mechanisms that Lucifer couldn’t for the life of him decipher the purpose of. Sweeping a hand over the case, Lucifer narrowed his eyes at it speculatively.

“You have provided me with a block of expensive metal. And here I thought the 16th century was a chapter of the past.”

Affronted, Tony gasped. “That’s 34 hours of no sleep, pure genius, _and_ expensive metal, for your information,” Tony retorted, more than slightly insulted, apparently.

Lucifer remained unimpressed by the case, however.

“And what do you want me to do with it? Club the bad guys over the head? I suppose it’d work, but – “

“What? No,” Tony interrupted with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. “I mean – with your strength, it’d probably work, who knows, but _no,”_ Tony reasserted. “This is an armor,” the man insisted. “Well, part of an armor, in any case.” But Lucifer couldn’t see it.

“It’s been a while since the middle ages, darling. I’m not sure I remember how to reassemble an armor. Let alone one so high-tech – and compact and clearly very _square_ ,” Lucifer analyzed, and Tony’s level of frustration mounted visibly in the thinning of his lips. 

Tony’s difficulty made the Devil grin in amusement with barely any effort at all, making the man squint at him.

“You’re playing me. Stop it,” the engineer ordered half-seriously, after which Lucifer leaned forward over the case to inspect it more closely.

“What do I need to do?”

“Place your hands on the pads here. Then press,” the engineer instructed.

Raising his eyebrows, Lucifer did as he was instructed. He placed his hands on the palm-sized pads and pressed down, hearing, and feeling the mechanisms inside the case come to life as the pads descended slightly into the machinery.

Attempting to keep his calm, he was nonetheless more than slightly alarmed when sheets of metal suddenly decided to unwrap from said box, indecently interlocking themselves somehow to cover his forearms, not unlike his blessed vambraces. Fastening firmly to his limbs like a seamless shell of defense, he frantically shook his arms a few times like a startled chicken in a brief attempt at dislodging the invasive engineering. 

He quickly moved a few paces away from the whirring box of unknown workings, and scarcely had a moment to voice his complaint when next, a floating image made itself welcome like a sparkly specter in front of his eyes – which had a remarkable resemblance to his winged figure, except –

“Say hello to Apostasy I – concept in development.”

Lucifer stared uncomprehendingly, hardly able to concentrate on the hologram at all. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, Sailor Pluto – a costume change into that ashen toga would be real practical – and thank you.”

With not a small amount of hesitancy and a dash of mortification, Lucifer simply complied and called forth the tunic as requested – simply too bewildered at the moment to mount a refusal. Nodding approvingly, Tony then commenced placing some small circular nodes on different parts of his body – the chest, his shoulders, arms, legs, hips, calves, and on it went until Lucifer not only felt like a mannequin but a polka-dotted one of the kind.

“Great,” he announced, and after doing a quick check on his handiwork with Lucifer staring in frustrated confusion, the man pressed something in the box, after which the holographic image flew right at him, expanded, and somehow covered his body in its bluish hues of light.

“What on Earth – “

“Cool – calibrating design to fit bullshit blessed undershirt. Done. JARVIS, mirror,” Tony ordered, and ANOTHER hologram made itself known before him, a quick wave at his immaterial double revealing its purpose. It mirrored him perfectly.

“As said – still a concept design. I’ve got a lot of stuff in the works,” Tony interjected into his own explanation, zooms of light running diagnostically through the design on Lucifer’s body as the other spoke. “It’s sleeker, nicer to look at – basically functionless except for my plans to fireproof the shit out of it – but you’re a whole package of functions in and off yourself, so I didn’t feel adding a batarang would make it or break it.”

He was right, of course. The holograms were excellently illustrating the concept Tony spoke of, and Lucifer had to admit that it was leagues above any other armor he’d ever worn, and he suspected – perhaps needlessly – outwardly ‘safer’ as well.

Retaining what could easily be interpreted as metallic texture, his chest, arms, and legs were covered in streamlined armor reminiscent of comic book characters of the highest regard, though still influenced by his previous model. Additionally, the tunic was incorporated into the design in a novel manner, blending in faultlessly with the remaining parts – including the shiny, gold, and silvery grey vambraces that still hugged his forearms.

Conclusively – Remiel would absolutely hate it.

Unprompted, his mirror image spun around himself helpfully, allowing Lucifer to view the back of himself.

“I’ve re-watched you ‘unsheathing’ your wings multiple times now since I had to figure out how to incorporate that aspect of your fighting style, but eventually came to the conclusion that they make no fucking sense whatsoever. At all. They just appear out of thin air and say _fuck you_ to fabrics, skin, and the physical limitations of the universe, so I just assumed that whatever I did – they’d win,” Tony explained in obvious complaint. 

“Astute observation,” Lucifer said, mildly startled still by what just occurred on his body – arms in particular. 

It wasn’t often anything new happened to his body. He’d assumed he’d been through most of it, but apparently, Tony managed to surprise him yet again.

“Not… that I’m not utterly fascinated by this fancy tinfoil…”

“ _Tinfoil – !“_

“ – what are you expecting me to do with it, exactly?” Lucifer asked, turning his arms repeatedly to inspect the intricacies of the metalwork.

It was a truly amazing creation, he had to admit.

“It’s to go over your tunic when you fight. I know you’ve got that invulnerability thing going on, but I was hoping you’d take it with you when you – left, as well. As a parting gift.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in making sacrifices to the Devil, Tony,” Lucifer teased, and Tony essentially told him to take a hike with his eyes.

The Devil’s grin made a steady comeback, however, when he finally had a chance to inspect it properly, allowing himself the pleasure now that the light show was effectively glued to his body and presently unescapable.

“Well, _hello_ ,” Lucifer said, posing for the benefit of himself. “Don’t I look fierce,” he laughed. “And nothing at all like an angel. Brilliant,” Lucifer concluded gleefully, turning towards Tony who stared pridefully back at him.

This glorious human.

A detail caught his attention, then. On his vambraces, a symbol was transcribed.

“Ah – yeah, that can be changed. I honestly wasn’t sure if that actually _is_ your symbol or – “

“The pentagram – yes,” Lucifer said, smiling thankfully at Tony. “My symbol is rather controversial these days.”

“It’s yours. Own it,” Tony told him firmly, not a shred of doubt in his voice. “Besides, I don’t have any right to tell you to _not_ be controversial. I am a walking, breathing controversy. So – be you and fuck everyone else _and_ the KIA Picanto they rode in on,” Tony concluded savagely.

Channeling fire into the edging of the pentagram on his vambrace, he stared purposefully at the image he presented and smiled to himself, feeling slightly stronger than he did yesterday.

“Quite right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I drew this earlier today since I knew I'd be posting. Face is better - and armor more superhero-y? Hopefully. 
> 
> I just really like armor, guys. 
> 
> (But I still can't draw hands worth shit.)


	16. General Tomfoolery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT, so first of all - WELCOME to the new influx of readers to this silly story of mine. I'm beyond excited to have you, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story! :D
> 
> To the returning readers - I'll just enthusiastically remind you that I adore you. <3
> 
> Next, I'd like to address the ones of you eagerly awaiting the interview/press conference:  
> It will happen when it happens. I have a plan for this story and want it to span into several movies. I've decided how I'm going to do this, and it does sadly not involve shoving the interview in there before I find it appropriate plot-wise. 
> 
> It'll be a chaotic mess, but I've already written my starting notes on it and it's gonna be a glorious disaster - as expected. So patience with regard to this would be appreciated :) 
> 
> SO - this chapter is important and unimportant at the same time. Keep in mind that I just kinda enjoy writing this in general, so some shit will occur before Iron Man 3... so enjoy the randomness and the plot progression both :)

The designated common room of the Avenger’s tower had been officially finished a couple of days ago, complete with comfortable seating areas, a double island kitchen – that Steve did _not_ see the functional purpose of – a grand piano off to the side by the entertainment and/or game area, as well as a colorized television screen the size of a roadside billboard.

Large and opulent – but nonetheless comfy in a way his own rooms weren’t, being lighter and filled with more greenery, which he’d insisted upon when consulted about the design options. Needless to say, the piano had not been _his_ idea, though the thought of relaxing melodies floating through his afternoons appealed to him arbitrarily regardless of the source. 

It hadn’t taken long for Steve to select his favorite spot and having worked for a good number of hours that day volunteering his strength to the progress of rebuilding, he felt nicely justified allocating another hour to just – reading. Such was his plan until he expected to be greeted by either Bruce or Pepper returning from work eventually.

Steve had managed all of two pages when said plan was interrupted by the aforementioned ‘source.’

_”Captain!”_

He clutched his book tighter, a quiet prayer for _any other_ divine intervention than _this one._

”Steven.”

Did anyone suppose there was some truth to the verse _‘Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you’?_ Steve sincerely hoped so, but as far as reality went, it really didn’t seem like it.

_”Stevie.”_

Was one even supposed to take it literally?

”Ste –”

Steve sighed as he gave up. ”What is it, Lucifer?”

“Which retirement home did you invade to steal those horrendous garments?”

Steve paused despite himself and looked up from his book to stare bewildered at the Devil.

“Excuse me?”

“Sure,” Lucifer said, nodding. “But in all seriousness – you’re doing your delectable behind no favors, Captain. Whatever happened to that wonderfully patriotic body-suit of yours?”

“What?” Steve tried again, feeling a blush creep up from his neck to his face.

“Your _clothing_ , Captain,” Lucifer said, slowly, as he narrowed his eyes at Steve’s buttoned-up shirt and khakis. “They’re strangely charming, but you’re surely committing a sin by covering up your buttocks so thoroughly,” Lucifer claimed, staring below Steve’s midriff as if the man could stare straight through him to the buttocks in question. Unconsciously, and partly because Steve couldn’t rule out that Lucifer could do exactly that, he lowered the book a little further and leveled an offended stare at the being in front of him.

“Lu – “

“I mean look at this national monument!” Lucifer exclaimed suddenly, thrusting his handheld device into Steve’s face, making him scramble to get a proper distance to the screen.

It was a picture of Steve – or rather, Captain America, from behind – with his backside very prominently highlighted with a red circle to emphasize its placement.

“That, my friend,” Lucifer said, pointing a finger at Steve’s behind, “– is America’s arse,” he said – and he sounded serious.

“And you’re currently covering it in relics from the ‘40s,” Lucifer continued, sprinkling in a sad sigh. “A travesty like no other.”

“I am _from_ the ‘40s,” Steve pointed out, watching Lucifer’s expression shift to one of bemusement.

A moment went by as Lucifer stared at him pensively.

“You know…” he said with a frown. “I think there might be a _possibility_ that I’ve misunderstood something vital,” Lucifer informed him, his hand scratching at his stubble. “I’ve been told repeatedly that you were an ‘old-timer’ and ‘stuck in the past’ – _as well_ as the future, which was positively bewildering – _and_ I’ve also heard that _Captain America_ fought in the second world war,” he went on, and despite Steve’s current feelings on the matter, he nodded helpfully.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re the _same_ Captain America that allegedly fought in the second world war in this universe?”

Steve nodded, again, fighting to keep the melancholy from his face. Despite whatever he might’ve expected, Lucifer suddenly squinted at him harshly, taking Steve aback with the vehemence in his look.

“And you’re not one of my brothers, _are you?”_ he demanded suspiciously.

“What? No,” Steve denied quickly, baffled. “I’m from Brooklyn.”

Lucifer snorted at him as if the state of Steve’s possible divinity was an uncertain matter.

“And yes – I fought in the war from 1943 to 1945,” he extrapolated. Lucifer, however, seemed to find his explanation lacking in substance and wrinkled his nose.

“And how exactly did you come about this longevity of yours? The only other immortal human I’ve met was my ex-girlfriend’s eldest son who made Swiss cheese of my wings and nearly killed my partner in a shootout.”

Steve blinked. That was way too much to unpack and the casualness did nothing to minimize the size of the suitcase. “Your ex-girlfriend?”

“Eve.”

“Eve,” Steve repeated blankly. _“The first woman?”_

“After the rambunctious Lilith, yes. We broke up recently in fact. Again,” Lucifer told him, making it up to be no big deal.

Lucifer, unfazed by Steve’s confusion and clearly impatient, kept staring at Steve like he had the answers in his back pocket.

“I’m not immortal,” Steve told him, shelving his own questions. “I… I crashed my plane into a glacier and was frozen for seventy years. Because of the serum that… made me look like this, I survived and now I’m… here. Out of place,” he ended hesitantly.

“I see,” Lucifer said.

“Really?” Steve questioned skeptically, looking at the Devil who’d apparently believed him _just like that_.

Lucifer nodded with no hesitation. “Of course, Captain. Whacky human science-buffoonery aside, what do you think I experience every time I’ve come topside?”

“The flu?” Steve japed, smothering a smile. 

“Hah, hah,” Lucifer drawled sarcastically. “No – nearly every time I decide to visit the surface, half a century or more have passed and it takes me _months_ sometimes to acclimate myself to the new workings of civilization. Cars came out of nowhere. Same with planes, telephones, and moving images. Marvelous what humans can do when some of you cease sinning for just a couple of decades,” Lucifer babbled on, eyes widening as he continued. “ _Imagine_ my elation, Captain, when I returned from the ‘70s and _homosexuality_ was on the global agenda!” Lucifer exclaimed delightedly. “It was wonderful!” He beamed at him.

“Yeah, I get what you mean,” Steve confessed, focusing on the bigger picture of Lucifer’s word vomit. “Communication has _really_ evolved – as well as the… weaponry. But you’re right. Some of the most amazing developments have been the social ones – though I’m pretty sure the Christians won’t like hearing you of all people advocate for sexual diversity,” Steve guessed with rising amusement, and Lucifer waved a hand at him uncaringly, that smug grin of his making a return to his face.

“Oh, I love a good banter with a religious zealot! Bring them on, I say!”

“Wait,” Steve suddenly spoke up once more, mentally rewinding to an earlier confusion of his.

“What were _you_ doing during world war II?” Because it suddenly dawned on him that Lucifer had _also_ been around in his days – dimensional difference or not, according to his logic.

“You mean as opposed to being frozen like last week’s leftovers?”

Steve, having expected the quip, simply nodded determinately.

“Working overtime,” Lucifer answered promptly. “Do you _know_ how many humans descended during that time? Temporal difference be damned – the floods of new entrants came so frequently and so suddenly that I took an urgent, impromptu trip topside to Northern Ireland, spent two days reading newspapers to figure out what the Hell was going on, flew to Heaven to rant at the tarts up there, only to get rejected at the gates – expectedly – after which I started a fight with a Nazi, stole his hat and his diary and then went home to administrate the torture of his deceased superiors.”

Incredulous silence ensued as the questions within Steve battled for dominance.

“… You’ve tortured Hitler?” Steve blurted finally, the concept of torture warring rather intensely with the pleasant thought of the dictator being in Hell. 

Lucifer’s grin faltered, an exasperated look replacing his earlier enthusiasm.

“What is it with you humans and Hitler? My therapist asked the same – inquiring whether I had an ‘evil dictator wing’ in Hell. Preposterous,” Lucifer snapped, like he couldn’t believe the nerve of him.

Steve looked at Lucifer soulfully for a few seconds, and whatever feelings he desired for the other to understand seemed to have been registered because Lucifer sobered up and looked at him meaningfully.

“Yes, he’s there,” he assured Steve.

“And… Red Skull?”

Lucifer tilted his head slightly in a clear sign of confusion – and perhaps a smidgen of _offense_? – and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

“Never mind,” Steve answered, sighing. He offered a smile. “I suppose it’s nice to know I’m not the only one out of time.”

“I came into being shortly after time was established, my dear Captain,” Lucifer informed him.

Steve wasn’t prepared for this conversation in the slightest, so he simply accepted it as Lucifer’s truth and left it at that, putting his book away.

“But I… understand how you feel, I believe. Out of time. Everything is moving much faster these days,” Lucifer offered in an attempt to be friendly, it would seem.

Steve nodded. “It is. I feel like a bookmark on the wrong page. I’ve missed too much to make sense of anything,” Steve admitted to him. “How do you do it, Lucifer? Every half a century… Isn’t it… lonely?”

Lucifer considered his question.

“It has always been my reality. Humans come and go. I had to learn not to get too attached – hadn’t really wanted to. Until recently, that is. Now – “ he paused, dark eyes farther away than Steve could likely fathom. “Now, being lonely might the worst thing I could imagine happening to me,” the angel admitted quietly, the confession itself seemingly coming as a surprise. 

Unexpected emotions from Lucifer aside, Steve understood.

“Being away from home,” Steve mumbled in support, leaning his head back against the couch and gleaning Lucifer’s agreeable nod in response to his words. Steve couldn’t be sure which home Lucifer was agreeing to miss, however. His universe? Hell? _Heaven?_ He supposed it wasn’t his business, so he neglected to ask.

For reasons that Steve didn’t dare contemplate too closely, he felt no lingering wariness when the Devil eventually sat down beside him and picked up a magazine that’d been left on the coffee table.

“As far as I remember – cross-word puzzles were a normal past-time in the ‘40s,” Lucifer hinted with a smirk, flipping to a page Steve hadn’t known existed in today’s periodicals.

Crossing his arms and accepting the distraction for what it was, Steve leaned over to look at the first word.

“Seven letters. Another word for ‘comrade-in-arms,’” Lucifer advertised.

Steve smiled slightly.

“Soldier.”

-6-6-6-

“And we’re here with Anthony _‘Tony’_ Edward Stark, the owner and Head of Development of Stark Industries, and – of course – the one and only _Iron Man_ who fought in the Battle of New York and saved countless lives along with the likes of Captain America, the Black Widow, Hawkeye, the Hulk, Thor the thunder god, and – the person we’ve all be dying to know… _anything at all_ about, really,” the reporter, Poppy Goodrich introduced, looking to her much-advertised guest of the night and nodding in welcome.

“It’s a pleasure to have you on our show, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony. Obligatory reference to my father not forthcoming.”

Poppy laughed obligingly.

“Then you may call me Poppy,” Poppy replied needlessly, a shrewd blink in her eyes. Tony nodded pleasantly as he leaned back in his modern armchair in the studio. The celebrity that was Tony Stark was wearing a stylish suit, his eyes covered with orange-tinted sunglasses, and looking for the world like this whole shindig wasn’t his idea in the slightest.

“We were quite surprised that your PR team reached out to us,” she initiated the conversation imploringly. “You don’t have a habit of participating in shows like this. Even now, we’ve had to make it an isolated interview. For the viewers out there – our studio is empty aside from our staff, by request of Tony.”

“Ah, that was Pepper’s idea, actually. Full credit to her. She’s kind of a worrywart lately. That’s what happens when you see your significant other… fly into a wormhole into outer space with high-grade plutonium on his back,” Tony told her matter-of-factly.

“…Yes – I imagine she was very worried,” Poppy agreed, smiling a strained smile at Tony, who returned a professional smile of his own.

“A lot of people have been worried, actually. And not only about alien invasions,” Poppy hinted then, and Tony rested his chin in his palm, leaning against his armrest.

“Hm… yeah,” Tony agreed. “People were getting kind of hysterical in the Wild West that is the internet and social media, so I’ve been advised that shedding some _light_ on all this might help.” Unprompted, Tony grinned slightly into the camera and then proceeded to pretend like he wasn’t sharing an inside joke with an unknown recipient.

A couple of seconds went by as Poppy attempted to share the amusement with Tony, after which she fixed an expectant stare at the engineer before her.

“I’m just gonna come right out and say it – the angel,” Poppy said seriously as a grainy picture from the battle was made visible to the viewers. She leaned forward in her seat and regarded the nonchalant Tony. “What can you tell us?”

“Lucifer,” Tony responded, and gasps were immediately audible from the studio. Poppy remained unfazed.

“Alright. So, one rumor confirmed. His name is indeed Lucifer. Lucifer… Morningstar, correct?”

“Correct.” More gasps followed, and Poppy looked annoyed to her left as if to silently shush the idiots seemingly incapable of discretion.

“Lucifer Morningstar… A man with wings. Wielding fire,” she fished.

“You forget the super strength, super speed, super sight – super fucking old too. Cap got nothing on him, and neither does his royal Hammer-ness.”

“Uhuh,” Poppy responded, apparently slightly uninterested in these other alleged abilities. “Are you here to disclose his true identity?”

Cocking his head slightly, Tony looked at her like he was contemplating why he showed up in the first place. Poppy blushed in response, whether in anger or embarrassment was hard to tell.

“Obviously not,” he said, sounding insulted that he was asked at all. He continued before she had the chance to refute.

“It’s already common knowledge who he is, so why do you need me to repeat it? Are people getting lazy?” he asked rhetorically, looking around the studio curiously with a hand on his chest. “Did no one notice the satanic sacrifices littering the front step of several churches lately? Just me? By the way – been told to ask you to stop that immediately, whoever you asshats are, because apparently ‘it doesn’t work like that,’” he said while making quotation marks, “and it’s just a fucking mess to look at.”

Stopping in the midst of a no-doubt spontaneous inquiry, Poppy held up a hand and visibly recalibrated. “So, just to get this right, Tony – the angel that fought in the invasion was none other than – _the_ Lucifer? The _Devil_?”

“Yup,” Tony admitted shamelessly, squashing a smile that definitely wanted to break free of his composure – unaware, or rather, seemingly uncaring that millions of viewers would likely react in much the opposite fashion. His interviewer took a breath to maintain her own composure and pressed on.

“That’s… kind of fantastical, you’ve got to admit, Tony. I mean, we’ve been told that Thor is an alien, which, judging from the recent invasion, is universally accepted as truth. But – Lucifer. Is he also an alien, then?”

“Yeah, you see,” Tony started, briefly pinching between his brows. “We really, _really_ wanted to go with that explanation, but the guy is literally incapable of lying – so, no dice. Gotta go with the truth. So, sorry to say, fellow atheists out there – Lucifer is the real deal.”

Some mumbling could be heard from the side, and the viewers watched a momentary shake of the camera as if the cameraman knocked into the device by accident. Regardless, Poppy successfully ignored the poor-quality performance of her staff and continued the interview, poker-face equipped, and cue-cards shuffled.

“And the Devil walking, or – _flying_ around, doesn’t concern you, Tony?”

“Well, it did in the beginning,” Tony admitted. “The guy’s got a bad rep, after all. And some ugly-as- _fuck_ illustrations to go with it, which he really isn’t happy about, let me tell you. Did you know the Devil hates goat’s cheese?”

Bewildered despite herself, Poppy shook her head. “No. Can’t say it ever crossed my mind. So – to recap on what you just said. Lucifer _, Satan,_ is not as history describes him?”

“You’re trying. I like that,” Tony disclosed in a no-nonsense tone. “I get why you were recommended to me.”

Poppy offered a hesitant smile.

“But really – it depends. He definitely isn’t evil, though.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Well he came and helped us, didn’t he? I had to call him, you see. We were in a tight spot. Aliens farther up our collective asses than any of us was comfortable with – but you saw that. We weren’t sure if we’d be enough, and in times like those – you grasp at straws and at any advantage you have. It just so happens that I had Lucifer’s phone number.”

Poppy blinked once. “You – just so happened to have Satan on speed dial?”

“I’ve been told before that I tend to defy expectations.”

Mumbling an inappropriate ‘no fucking shit’ under her breath, Poppy shook her head slightly and refocused.

“Alright. Let’s start there, then,” she decided.

Tony nodded agreeably and motioned for her to continue, not so subtly taking a glance at his wristwatch while doing so.

“Where did you meet?”

“Vegas.”

A pause.

“When did you find out he was the Devil?”

“Two minutes after meeting him – but didn’t believe him, obviously. Had to find out the awkward way that he really just _can’t lie.”_

“The Father of Lies, unable to lie,” Poppy trailed off skeptically.

“Is it really worth bending in neon for you people?” he asked, referring to the media as a whole. “A lot of things aren’t what they seem, as has been demonstrated countless times this past year alone, not to mention a few weeks ago. Mythology wasn’t what we expected. Big shock, definitely to me. Outer space wasn’t exactly what the majority of us expected either. We didn’t think Cap could be found alive. We didn’t think aliens could invade through portals, and who knew a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist could go steady?” Tony went on proudly, grinning at the camera.

“And then there’s Lucifer,” he continued, “– who I think might be the biggest middle finger to expectations that I’ve ever seen.”

“I get the feeling you and he are close,” Poppy commented slowly.

Once again, Tony fought a smile. “Out of context, this might sound pretty bad, but Lucifer and I have a lot in common,” Tony disclosed, and Poppy raised both her eyebrows.

Sensing her disbelief, Tony elaborated. “We both really like acoustic music – hello, he’s an angel, so that’s apparently accurate. We both absolutely _adore_ expensive liquor. Dude says he’s got a collection of vintage whiskey from the early 18’th century, but I’ve yet to see it. Something about multi-dimensional disproportions. He keeps stealing mine, for the time being. Which, if I gotta be honest with you, is a complete waste of alcohol, because Lucifer can barely even manage a buzz on a bad day.”

Ticking off a couple more fingers on his hand, Tony continued heedlessly. “Lucifer likes to have fun. He’s snarky, sarcastic, joking, and crafty.”

“Yeah, I can see the resemblance,” Poppy offered jokingly, but Tony ignored her, continuing his list.

“Not that we discuss our feelings, ever, but we’ve both got some _major_ daddy issues. I don’t think I really need to elaborate upon that. He could tell you all about it himself – “

“Will he?” Poppy cut in pointedly.

“Will he what? Tell you about it?”

Poppy nodded, the studio deathly silent behind her.

“You describe him as a fairly well-adjusted individual capable of discourse. Do you think he’d be willing to address some of the issues his presence has caused?”

Leaning back in his seat and folding his hands on his stomach, Tony regarded Poppy silently for a moment.

“We’ve discussed it,” he started. “He’s aware that revealing himself was extremely risky, but he didn’t do it just to be an asshole to the wider public. He’s not responsible for all of the shit that’s been going on, but he _is_ rather concerned about it. Even if he doesn’t like to admit it.”

Poppy squinted at him questioningly, and Tony sighed.

“I’m gonna get shit for this later, but _basically_ ,” he began, implying callously that he’d be having beef with Satan over whatever he was about to explain on live television, “you can ask him whatever you want, but if the guy is determined not to reveal his feelings on the manner, he’ll distract you by being an absolute _goof -_ or a first-class procrastinator, depending on the level of emotion we’re on. Personally? I’d go down to my workshop and bury myself in shiny toys, but _Lucy_ would plant himself by the piano like a stubborn rose bush and play one edgy song after another while drinking a _literally_ unholy amount of alcohol – pointlessly – and have orgies.”

“Orgies – “ Poppy managed to say before Tony interrupted.

“Yeah no, Poppycock, I’m not gonna discuss Lucifer’s sex life with you. I hear about it enough as it is.”

“Alright… “ she responded, though she looked more than a little befuddled – and concerned. “But will we see him in an interview any time soon?”

Tony pursed his lips, looking mildly unhappy as he glanced around the studio distrustfully.

“Just for the record, so we’ve got this clear – _Tony Stark_ is not a ‘satanic prophet’ or whatever you lunatics out there think,” Tony snarled at the camera and then pointed aggressively to the staff out of view. “I’m _not_ playing ‘messenger’; I’m just being nice.”

Tony then stood and the camera moved to take in his whole image. The infamous engineer placed his hands in his pockets, spared a glance at Poppy in a bad attempt to be courteous, and then started speaking to the viewers directly.

“Lucifer Morningstar has agreed to do a live-transmission interview with questions gathered from viewers around the world, addressing the concerns of the public from an undisclosed location. The date is next Thursday at 8 pm – so, get your sticky fingers onto Twitter, because my people will be filtering _your_ questions for the selected few that will be posed to him directly – more details to follow. We will attempt to be as impartial as possible, and depending on how well this is received, Lucifer might agree or disagree to future interviews.”

Removing a note from his pocket with a pretty frustrated exhalation, he unfolded it and held it up to the camera.

“Still not a messenger – but seriously. Stop it with the sacrifices.”

The note was straight to the point. In red marker, the writing simply said: _The next person who sacrifices a goat in my name will be handed over to the police._

Replacing the note in his pocket, Tony strode out of the studio amid total quiet.

-6-6-6-

Someone was arrested for animal mutilation and somehow people were surprised by that.

“How did you even know where to find them? I thought you couldn’t just ‘know’ where people were?”

Rearranging the hand he’d been given, Lucifer wrinkled his nose over the cards in what was now universally known to mean _‘this is so outrageous that I’m divinely disgusted and now I will rant about it, and you will listen to me.’_

“The hooligans were praying in my name – of course I can hear their ridiculous noises if I choose to focus on it. _Oh Lucifer, Lord of the damned, heed my request._ – HAH! Not bloody fucking likely _Terrence_ , you god-forsaken _twat._ I don’t make deals with people committing senseless violence in my name, let alone complete _dunderheads_ incapable of _manners_ ,” Lucifer ranted, slapping an offering of cards onto the table. Steve matched it effortlessly, causing Lucifer to frown in annoyance.

“So – “

“No,” Lucifer hissed at Tony all the while scowling at Steve. Pepper matched Bruce, so Lucifer tossed in another attempt, after which Steve once again managed to foil the Devil’s plans.

He might’ve been enjoying it a little too much, Steve silently admitted to himself – and it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with literacy-related revenge or anything of the like.

“But – “

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer reiterated crossly, intent on Steve’s immediate demise but getting nowhere.

“Plus 4, Dr. Banner,” Pepper announced calmly.

“Damnit.”

“But how does it work?!” Tony almost exploded, causing every eye to swirl in his direction and distracting Bruce from picking up his cards.

Closely monitoring Steve, Lucifer let out a huff and faced his cards towards the table, granting the inventor in their company the attention he desired.

“Your parents never taught you how to pray?”

“My mom was Italian, so yeah, I tried it once or twice, but daddy dearest thought it would make me ‘dim-witted’ and put a stopper to it pretty darn fast. Barely even celebrated Christmas or attended a wedding, so no, actually – I haven’t been taught how to pray. I thought people usually prayed to God?”

“And me, as it were, and a select few of my siblings,” Lucifer revealed with distaste. “People seem to think Michael is some sort of ‘perfect guardian angel,’ and I can’t imagine the horrible noise he has to block out on a daily basis. Must be exhausting,” he concluded, picking up his cards to look at them again.

“He’s not?”

“He’s a prat.”

“And you can hear prayers, apparently,” Tony refocused, causing Bruce to sigh out loud.

“I don’t like listening to prayers,” Lucifer told them.

Curious as he was, Steve put down a couple of stop-cards and quirked an eyebrow at the angel at the table.

“Why?”

A whole extra round went by as Lucifer seemed to formulate an answer, though from his expression it looked like he’d rather be downing the entire bottle of rosé to the left of him.

“Prayers were first used by angels to telepathically speak across large distances, and since humans were made in my father’s image, as _we_ were, you gained a modicum of that ability – but with far more _restrictions_ ,” he started, but the game didn’t cease, because Lucifer was intent on speaking through it.

“A sibling of mine taught humans this piece of knowledge, but we quickly discovered that you were –limited, in your ability to communicate with us. To be honest with you, we thought you rather pathetic after that fact,” Lucifer informed them, and Tony looked more than slightly insulted.

“Imagine,” the angel said, muttering _uno_ before he put down his last card and gained second place after Bruce. “ _Imagine_ receiving a near-constant need for communication from humanity – and _none_ of you can hear us. Absolutely laughable.”

“We can’t hear you?” Pepper asked, confused. _“Never?”_

“Are you speaking gibberish to us or something?” Tony proposed.

“Not as such, though Enochian wouldn’t be far off the description,” Lucifer informed uncaringly. “No, darling, you are just completely incapable of receiving our communication. Like a one-way radio, you speak into a crowded space, but are _deaf_ to the answers.”

“But you _hear_ us,” Steve reasserted because that would at the very _least_ be a comfortable thought for the future.

Lucifer snorted a vague agreement. “Luckily, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn to control how the prayers will reach you.”

“So – you’re like a _very_ picky Charles Xavier.”

“Tony,” Pepper reprimanded half-heartedly, but Tony only looked expectantly at Lucifer, not budging an inch.

Lucifer, however, was having none of it and fixed an icy stare at the man before him.

“What kind of prayers do you think I receive, _Anthony_?”

Furrowing his brows, Tony opened his mouth to presumably offer his two cents on the matter but shut it swiftly again.

“Oh,” he said, looking mildly disturbed and now Steve was confused.

 _“Oh?_ What am I missing?” Because there always seemed to be _something_ he was missing.

Sharing a concerned glance with Pepper, which was then directed to an annoyed-looking Lucifer, Tony made to speak, but Bruce cut in before the engineer had the chance to confuse Steve further.

“Who do you think prays to the Devil, Steve?” Bruce asked him.

“I don’t – Oh,” he said with sudden clarity and Lucifer grimaced in obvious distaste.

“Oh,” Lucifer repeated with a long-suffering sigh.

“Okay, no more questions about prayers, gotcha,” Tony proclaimed.

“Much appreciated.”

“For what it’s worth, Lucifer,” Pepper spoke up kindly, “I don’t think you’re obligated to listen to prayers – especially not that kind. You did a good thing informing the police about those people.”

“Hm… “ Lucifer voiced non-committedly without disagreeing.

They reshuffled the deck and started a new game, the new common room seeing much use that night as the world raved on about angels, aliens, and the heroes who supported them. 

-6-6-6-

“ _Hello_ , Director!” Lucifer greeted amidst furious alarms as he waltzed into the room that looked to have been made with the imagination of a particularly sad, communist architect.

Looking around – there really wasn’t much to look at, at all. The director himself was sat tensely behind his desk with what looked like a weirdly scorched case file half-clutched in his right hand, a gun in the other, and a death glare in place like his face had no other setting.

Everything else was plain concrete, dark walls, and grey flooring no-doubt mopped with the tears of this man’s sobbing underlings.

“Lucifer,” Fury grunted, scowl firmly in place as he wiped off the ash on his table. “ _How_ did you get in here?” 

“Why, the same way I gain access to any other prohibited space, my visually impaired companion; I ask very nicely,” Lucifer informed him, unrepentantly.

Fury narrowed his eye at him so thoroughly that Lucifer doubted the man could see him at all.

Placing his hands in his trouser pockets, Lucifer addressed the purpose of his appearance. “After a delightful brekkie spent with Pepper and Tony, he informed me that you _humbly_ desired my presence at this ‘top-secret’ facility of yours – address helpfully included, of course. And as the never-ending bringer of desires, I’ve heeded your call – though with mild reluctance, seeing as we still haven’t quite worked out your payment to me.”

A chance to escape the tower with full ‘permission’ might’ve also played a role in his willingness, but said pitifulness needed not be voiced.

After a thorough stare-down, Fury sighed, and Lucifer wasn’t certain that the heaviness in the sound was entirely necessary.

“A little more notice would’ve been ideal,” Fury growled, hissing a ‘fucking Stark’ under his breath as he collected the remnants of his hasty file demolition into a wastebasket.

“ _Naturally_ , Director. I shall henceforth endeavor to send a voicemail prior to departure,” he promised with noticeable insincerity. ”Why you couldn’t’ve called me yourself still remains a mystery, however. You certainly haven’t had any issues calling me at 3 am before. I assume instant-messaging isn’t beyond you – or must every meaningful correspondence with you be through coded messages in the single’s section, still?“

Visibly ticked-off, as Lucifer has never seen him any different, Fury grunted another acerbic comment about Tony’s never-ending quest to vex him and Lucifer’s unpredictable interpretation of orders – after which he stood up and moved towards the door.

With his enhanced hearing, Lucifer vaguely understood that the Director wanted him to follow and entertained the request easily enough. He’d come all this way – he might as well see what the sourly fellow wanted of him before he popped off back to his new fancy, _not-at-all_ imprisonment. 

There was much work to be done up to the interview, after all. Not to mention the armory testing in which Tony had drafted his help, the archaic movie night he had planned with the Captain so they could both catch up on the decades of entertainment Lucifer hadn’t cared about before – as well as his lunch date with Pepper and Bruce the next day.

My, if Lucifer’s schedule wasn’t booked. Suspiciously booked, one might say, but idleness had never suited him very well, so he appreciated the business for what it was worth.

“Hm…” Lucifer voiced with an impish smile on his face, walking directly behind the Director down the hallway as agents stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

“Hello, government grunts,” he addressed them as they sauntered past. “Don’t mind us – urgent business, I’ve _not_ been told,” he said playfully, turning in circles around himself intermittently to take in the full picture of the building while still keeping up pace with the Director.

It really was a particularly drab construction, Lucifer decided as they stopped in front of an ugly steel door.

_Atrocious._

The Director opened said door and Lucifer was mildly surprised to discover a… gym, of some kind.

An admittedly rather high-tech one, but a gym nonetheless and so Lucifer directed a scathing look at his companion who received it as well as one might expect.

“What in the name of my Father is it that you want me to do? Throw dumbbells at your gun-happy lackeys till they learn how to dodge?”

“No. It was my hope you would demonstrate your hand-to-hand combat capabilities with agents Romanov and Barton.”

“Hope is like wishes, Director. It is only granted in fairytales,” Lucifer informed him drily. “Come now. Did you only drag me here to see me in yoga pants?”

“I thought you had a costume?” came from the side. He spotted the man he’d met as Hawkeye sitting on a bench, staring at him with tentative caution.

“Costume!” Lucifer hooted suddenly, and Hawkeye looked confused by his amusement. “Oh, by my Father – what I wouldn’t give to see my brother’s face if you called our uniforms and armor _costumes!”_ he laughed, and the Director looked like he wanted it to cease immediately.

“You remember agent Barton,” Director Fury stated, rather than asked. Lucifer nodded with a belated chortle.

“Ah yes. The rather discombobulated bird on the roof. We were introduced on your flying ship, I believe,” Lucifer remembered, looking around. “But where is your little friend, the spider? Conducting an assassination, is she?”

“Classified,” came from behind him, and Lucifer turned around to spot the woman in question standing there with a bland expression on her face.

“Miss Romanov, what a pleasure to see you again!” Lucifer beamed. “And how long did you plan to stand there and inspect my and the Director’s backsides till you decided to announce your presence?”

“Not for long,” Natasha told him with the picture-perfect definition of a secretive smile.

Lucifer could admit that he was impressed.

“As you say, my dear,” he acknowledged with a small grin. “Now, Director – can you perhaps _finally_ tell me why we’re all here, scaring the hapless employees into an early ascension?”

“I fucking _told_ you, Lucifer. Combat demonstration,” Fury growled at him rudely.

“Oh. I thought you had been joking,” Lucifer admitted with a raised eyebrow, the Director palming his face tiredly as Barton let out a laugh.

“The mere idea was so absurd that I failed to take you seriously, Director. My apologies.”

“Right,” Fury grumbled. “Barton, Romanov – get to it. I want a report by the end of the day,” he told them in no uncertain terms, and the two of them nodded.

“Yes, sir,” the two of them said, obediently, and so Lucifer was left alone with the high-level subordinates to do who knows what-kind-of activity.

“Right, then,” he said, looking around.

“Oh hello, what is this then?” he said, spotting a massage table. “This whole disaster might have a happy ending after all,” Lucifer commented, and Clint laughed again as the red-haired woman looked unimpressed with him for a multitude of reasons.

-6-6-6-

“I’m dressed, sadly – so what is it we’ll be doing? Punch each other’s faces? You’ll have a rather sore hand by the end of it, I’m afraid,” Lucifer claimed, standing uncomfortably in his SHIELD-issued training wear.

The black widow tied up her hair into a short ponytail and positioned herself into a confident fighting stance, eyeing her opponent critically.

He didn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously.

“She’s a tough one, smartass. I bet you can’t put a finger on her,” Clint told the celestial being from the sidelines, providing all the support she didn’t ask for, but perhaps the incentive Lucifer needed.

“Hoh~?” he articulated challengingly. “Color me intrigued, agent! Let’s see what you’ve got then,” he impressed upon her with all the swagger of a British parliamentarian prepared for a lengthy discussion.

Sending a defiant smile of her own towards the Devil, she studied the stance he took in turn. A relaxed position with both arms slightly parted from his body, but with ample opportunity to defend from a multitude of directions. His body was turned slightly sideways, eying her with an alarmingly excited grin.

Natasha could admit that she was slightly excited herself. Excited to see what Lucifer could do while grounded.

“No magic,” she ordered curtly.

“I’m not magical, my dear agent. I’m _divine,”_ he stressed.

“Sure,” she answered wryly, watching Lucifer pout at her in response. His eyes narrowed at her as she shifted her stance.

“No wings.”

Letting out a huff, Lucifer squared his shoulders as if to reaffirm that his two invisible appendages would remain tucked away. “Not exactly like I can perform any aerial acrobatics in a room this small,” he remarked, his dark eyes tracking her determinately.

“Too bad,” Natasha said, smiling slyly. “I’ve never fought a man with six limbs before.”

And without further ado, she took two fast steps forward and speedily trapped Lucifer’s right arm in a vice, twisting away from him and disestablishing his balance. Hooking a leg around his knee, she threw him sideways onto the mat with a heavy push-n-pull, ending up restricting the man in a tight Judo-hold around his arm and legs.

Lucifer let out a surprised wheeze at the sudden maneuver and then promptly descended into uncontrollable guffaws the likes she’d never experienced while twisting someone’s arm.

Puzzled, but slightly amused, Natasha let go of Lucifer and watched him giggle on the ground for a few more seconds.

“By the heavens, she _is_ fast!” he exclaimed suddenly, looking to a smug-looking Clint. “You could give my Mazie a run for her money, my dear!” he told her, sitting up.

“Why, with a couple of knives and a proper romp, the two of you would hit it off famously, I’m sure.”

“Sounds fun,” Natasha said, studying the Devil’s expression. “Who’s Mazie?” she prodded casually.

Lucifer, who didn’t seem even the slightest bit winded or frazzled by having been tossed about only a moment before, stood up properly and regarded her with another grin.

“My demon, of course,” he said as if that tidbit of information wasn’t at the very least slightly interesting. “She’s her own demon now, however. Independence and all that. You remind me of her.”

“Is being compared to a demon considered a compliment in Hell?” she asked, hearing Clint snort behind her.

“Not normally, no, but Mazikeen is a special case.” Readying himself into a new stance without her say-so, Lucifer looked about ready to actually participate in the fight.

“She started work as a bounty hunter for the LAPD a year ago,” he mentioned with a casual kind of pride in his voice, as if Mazikeen could’ve accomplished whatever she’d wanted to and he wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

“Of course, having trained her personally for a few millennia, I expect only perfection from her,” he disclosed – and then he _charged_ at her.

 _F_ _ast._

Within moments, he was inside her guard and only her instincts saved her from an immediate faceplant into the mat. Twisting out of the unnaturally rapid grip he’d made on her upper arm; she wound around his body and locked her legs around his torso in an attempt to bring him out of balance again.

Lucifer’s stance was firm in milliseconds after her maneuver, however, his stance widening to remain standing. Grabbing her ankles, he easily parted them and promptly detached her from his middle.

More than slightly impressed and now wary of his strength and speed, Natasha twisted in his hold and broke free, landing on the ground in a crouch. Flipping backward once to create distance, Natasha studied Lucifer’s position.

He looked keen on a rematch… and sort of sad at the same time.

Natasha was starting to see a theme emerge.

“How strong are you?” Natasha asked him as she started circling him again.

“Hard to say. It isn’t something I’ve had tested during my physicals.”

“How fast are you?” she tried instead, and Lucifer pursed his lips.

“Without my wings – significantly slower. I can’t give you any exacts, my dear agent, but without my wings, I likely couldn’t hope to outrun a speeding car. Perhaps a puny Fiat 500 at full throttle up a hill could be doable,” Lucifer mused to himself.

“You make that sound much less impressive than it is.”

“Well for you, it might be,” Lucifer derided. “You humans can barely catch your offspring when they waddle off to Heaven-knows-where, let alone catch the bus. Whereas I can travel to the dark side of the moon in a couple of minutes.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Clint called out again.

“I’d take you to the big hunk of rock myself, agent Barton, but I’ve heard that birds implode in vacuum,” Lucifer purred in return, his tone of voice practically _daring_ Clint to find a spacesuit to disprove him.

Grunting in defeat, Clint sat back down and crossed his arms. After a moment, Clint spoke up again.

“If you do go up there, then get me a rock.”

Lucifer offered a confused stare. “Whatever would you need such a dusty piece of sediment for?”

“Classified,” Natasha spoke for Clint, and the man nodded decisively at her in gratitude.

“You’re fast, strong, and skilled,” Natasha mused out loud, and Lucifer grinned at her, telling her clearly that her estimation matched perfectly with his own personal opinion.

As Natasha raised her chin and clenched her first, Lucifer’s focus returned to the matter at hand.

“How about you start getting serious?”

“Oh, I am definitely introducing you to Maze when I get the chance,” Lucifer said gleefully, rolling his head back, and stretched his neck.

“After you, agent Romanov.”

Natasha smirked playfully, and then the fight started with all the suddenness of an approaching hurricane, and the assassin couldn’t remember the last time anyone made her shift fighting style more than thrice in one match.

Despite his posturing, Lucifer wasn’t all talk.

After all, she had yet to catch him in a single lie, and that might’ve been what impressed her the most.

-6-6-6-

“What the fuck are you looking at, Ian?”

“Uh… A really, really elaborate marketing stunt? I hope…?” Ian muttered hesitantly from behind his monitor. Brad squinted at him from behind his own screen in the office.

“You _hope?_ With a face like that, I was expecting to see you wearing earphones. So, what is it?”

Ian grimaced and rolled back his office chair slightly, gesturing a confused hand at the screen. “Honestly not sure what to think. It’s been up for two hours and people are watching it for the shock-value, probably. I’m in IT and I’m not even sure I can accurately tell you how this was made. It’s too good…” Ian said, biting his thumb.

Brad let out a grunt and moved his chair closer to Ian. “What is it?”

“Supposedly? I’m not sure. It starts with some kids talking about their school project, a drone prototype of some sort, and then taking it for a test flight. Some really grainy video at first, but – here, let me restart the video…”

“Sounds boring. Skip to the interesting part,” Brad requested dispassionately.

“Sure,” Ian murmured, dragging the arrow back.

A couple of seconds go by.

“Is that Stark Tower?”

“Wait for it.”

Brad slowly crosses his arms over his chest and leaned closer.

“Turn on the sound.”

“Oh – right.” Ian does.

“No way this is real…” Brad whispered lowly. “No fucking way…”

_“Interesting – is this an attempt to gain some unsolicited pictures, perchance? Horrible timing, whoever you are. I haven’t even removed any clothing yet.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chill chapter this time, but make no doubt - shit is hitting the fan.
> 
> P.S. I can be found lurking in the r/Lucifer discord, if anyone was curious. Same username.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always happy to receive any comments you may have. :) Thanks for reading!


End file.
